Introspective Hero
by Weiila
Summary: ON INDEFINITE HOLD. Sorry. Through all the mistakes he has done, and all the horrors of his existence, Jak knows that he'll always be able to count on Daxter to remain by his side. And that means more to him than even the fuzzball realizes. JakXDaxter.
1. Prologue

_Author's note: _Weiila's trying her hand at shounen ai stuff. If you look out the window you might just catch sight of a skeleton or plague or something on a bony horse, because there must be more signs for the Apocalypse about. Oi…

Brace yourselves for the angst, people.

All characters belong to Naughty Dog Inc. Go team, go!

Introspective Hero

Prologue

I should be dead by now. They should have tossed me away months before I heard that voice. One of those voices I had been replaying in my head over and over and over again...

Curled up in a cold corner, clutching my own shoulders and trying to become part of the shadows in the small cell... every night, I tried to hide by imagining. Hiding from the cold, the hands, the metal, the restraints and the needles - and most of all from myself, myself there in the cell, knowing that the stale, unnatural light from outside would fade into sunlight and paint the walls crimson and gold... and then, the footsteps would come again.

Always those footsteps. They never ceased. Even when my own screams tore through my body, those footsteps were somewhere in the background. When the pain ceased and the arch of my back cracked and I collapsed, beyond the bland female voice reporting and the Baron's swearing - I heard the footsteps. Footsteps tasting of bile, blood and dark eco.

I doubt that anybody realizes how close I come, every single day, to snap and break the spines of any marching moron, even our own soldiers whenever they march around within the reach of my ears. And my ears are painfully sharp.

Sometimes it gets really bad. So bad even Torn notices and asks if there's something he should know since I look just about ready to maim something. More ready than usual, at least.

But then there's always that nasal drawl coming from the weight on my shoulder. Always.

"Don't wet yer undies, dreadlock Jim, he just hasn't gotten to pull that trigger for half an hour. Come on, buddy, let's get your blonde little self over to the shooting range before somebody gets hurt."

Or whatever else he can think of. You might be surprised if you knew how many of his gags I remember - even more surprising that he seldom repeats himself. And then, if I grab a zoomer and fly as high up as they allow and focus on whatever he's babbling about next, then his voice and the buzz of the engine can block out the footsteps.

But when I try to forget the footsteps and I turn to him for help to forget, sometimes it backfires and slaps me straight in the face again.

In that cell, through the nights when the coma no longer could keep me safe, I imagined. With all the will I could muster I summoned echoes of the past, grabbing onto the memories of every kind word I had ever heard and remembering them with such intense despair that I could actually hear the voices in my head. Eventually, I could almost see them standing there, backdrop of blue sky and green hills framing their smiling faces.

One step further and it would have been madness, but what did it matter to me?

It soothed and tortured me at the same time, because I could not be there. They were never there with me, they were in their own world - and I was fully aware of it all the time. I could have given my right arm to once again hear Samos snarl about what a disobedient, senseless boy I was.

I shaped him in my mind, standing beside Keira who smiled and reached out her hand for me. Unseeing eyes staring at the metal wall facing me, I watched the past that could never reach me.

The weight on my shoulder was simpler. The weeks, months spent with those small feet perched on my shoulder panzer had merged it with me and I could almost be sure that if I turned my head too quickly I would feel that warm, fuzzy bounce and hear the angry yelp as he almost fell off.

It was a manic comfort, but soon it turned into fear. If he would be here with me, then the footsteps would come for him too. And that thought widened my eyes and shattered the awake dreams in pure horror.

Logic? Logic of the man going insane.

I'm not quite sure when it happened, that. But in my deranged little mind, I had to keep him safe if I was to imagine him, otherwise he would be too real and then they would find him.

Do I have to repeat that my mind was deranged?

To keep him safe, I changed the images. I removed the safe weight from my shoulder and I placed him beside Keira instead. Changing his furry little body into the scrawny boy he used to be - what he had expected me to bring him back into.

He became unreachable, just like Keira and Samos.

But then I realized that I could make him move around. I knew his way of moving from start to finish; twitchy, fluid motions mixing and always prepared to dive to safety at the slightest sign of danger. He could move along the walls of the cell and they would melt away into a scenery with a blue sky and a warm ocean, sand clinging to his toes whenever the waves did not lap them away. Turning halfway and waving, smirk disturbed by his insistent front teeth as his silly plume of red hair glistened of salty water and sunlight-

"Come on, Jak! I don't have all day!"

And I could almost reach him, too. I would have answered his call, but I still could not.

And he had promised to save me, hadn't he?

I'm not quite sure when it happened, it must have been somewhere during that first year. Late during it, I think. I had heard them talk.

"He's not responding."

"Maybe we should give up."

"Not yet!"

Praxis was stubborn, but even he was starting to sound more frustrated than usual. I knew that they were going to kill me soon.

It felt good. No more footsteps. No more screams.

But then I had to go and make the single most idiotic mistake in my entire life. Not a "Throw mystical thing that explodes, get thrown into your covering friend and push him into the vat of darkness"-mistake, no, one at a whole other level. Even remembering it now makes my fingers twitch and I feel the heat crawling into my neck.

I knew it was wrong, every fiber in my being screamed that the familiar form was not the one my fucking stupid brain wanted to make it, desperately wanted to- because he could not be there, not for real.

But I had not slept for a whole night, aching body refusing to even fall into that coma-like state I dared to call rest. All night, staring off at nothing, curled up on the floor watching that red plume whip around and the lips curl in a smile around the front teeth- my eyes were full of dust that I couldn't care to get rid of, sluggish brain not registering properly-

And when I heard soft footsteps, soft instead of boots, I just looked up and all I could see was that red hair in the glaring light from the door. I couldn't think, I just reached out a numb hand and my lips parted, tongue for the first time moving to form something else than a scream.

Pleading to everything holy and all the time I knew, I knew-

"Daxter...?"

Please, please...

He tilted his head in surprise, in a way that was not Daxter's.

"I think you're mistaking me for somebody else, freak."

And HE smirked.

I don't really remember what happened next, but I wish I could recall it clearly. Because I do know that they had to pry me away from him that time, in the last moment before I would have crushed his windpipe. I know because they were very loud about it afterwards.

HE started hating me right then.

I wish I could recall what happened then, in that short moment when I lost it. I wish I could recall HIS struggling, muffled screams for help as my hands squeezed HIS throat. But my mind went completely blank, and try as I might I cannot remember. Sometimes my hands tingle when I try to summon the memory. That's not enough.

I remember the familiar hands, cold metal gloves pinning me to the floor harder than usual, and I heard my own snarls. Even I thought that I sounded like an animal, but I could not stop.

It felt good. Great precursors, it felt good. Good to hear the swearing, and that one coughing, snarling wheeze as HE struggled to regain the breath that I had almost broken forever. Even if I was confused, I understood what had happened. I could still feel that tingle on my hands.

Sometimes I think that it probably would be best for myself if I found a feeling that is sweeter than what I felt right then. But I don't think I ever will, nothing to compare to that sick, sick, vile triumph - he was not dead but HE was shaken, rocked from his metal throne just when I had hated him even more than Praxis.

I had changed. I had released something, just for a brief moment. And it had been seen.

"What's going on here?"

When I have nightmares, I remember footsteps. The ones that approached then were a bit different from the choir that moved in sync, but I dream about them too. My lips stretched further in a louder snarl, static swearing surrounding me as the guards tightened their grips around my twitching limbs. They had no real trouble holding me down, but I did struggle with more force than usual.

"Baron Sir... commander Erol, he was..."

The bulky shadow swept past the stammering guard and entered the cell, gaze flying between me and HIM, standing by the wall and massaging his throat.

"What happened?" Praxis demanded.

HE snarled, one hand still on his blotched throat he pointed a shaking finger at me, voice hoarse with my rough treatment and his own rage.

"He tried to kill me!"

Looking back at it, I almost go down in hysterics at the sheer, moronic irony in that statement. Right then, I opened my mouth to form words for the second time in my life.

"Burn in hell you fucking-!"

Metal slammed into my jaw and the curse drowned in a snarl, falling back into a groan. Stars danced through my vision, but I still heard the click, felt the cold circle against my temple.

"Baron, Sir?" a guard's voice crackled, and the gun pushed at my head.

Praxis snarled.

"No reason to wai-" he started.

But he was interrupted.

"Wait."

HIS voice was still hoarse, a snarl filled with pain. But the rage had changed. I pried my eyes open, glaring up at him. He wasn't watching me, instead looking at Praxis.

"I swear, his eyes turned black. Pitch black!"

Praxis' eye widened slightly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

The hand that had been about to signal the shot swept around, hovering in the doorway instead.

"Proceed with the injections!" Praxis ordered, and the metal circle left my skin.

I was ripped to my feet and dragged towards the cold light, as I had been hundreds of times before. But this time I didn't trash around and cry out wordless protests - I tore at the living restraints with curses spewing from my mouth.

Somebody probably said "He can talk?" in the background, but I wasn't listening. I met HIS gaze and his lips curled upwards despite the pain. It didn't matter whether he had been telling the truth about my eyes or not - I feel inclined to believe him. But it didn't matter. All he wanted was to see me in pain.

Until then, he had not been present from the moment that my screams began, only showing up to drag me back or out of the cell. But after that he was always in the corner of my eye, even when dark eco flared through my bloodstreams and my head was just about to explode. Waiting, waiting as I was, anxiousabout not beingthe one given that order we were both expecting more fervently for every day that passed - waiting for Praxis to give up again and tell HIM to finally finish me off.

Yes, I should be dead by now. But because of that incident, Praxis got his hopes up and kept me for another year.

In the long run, I guess it was good. I saved the world, I guess. Good for it, to have a hero.

But, after that it became easier, in a way. My fear, my trembling, my silent pleas for mercy and death - they were burned away by that thing that had awakened. I called it anger.

It transformed the questions ringing through my head as the floor grated against my slipping feet, as my back hit the table, as the rough hands pressed me down until the restraints had been secured, as the needles bore down and the darkness ripped into my flesh. It was no longer "Why are they doing this to me?", it was "How can I kill them?".

I never did manage to bite any finger or nose off anybody, but by the precursors I tried. I think I broke a hand or two... a few times they shot a dart with a sedative drug through the celldoor window, because the guards hesitated to take chances.

That first time I met the anger, it didn't scare me. It wasn't until it betrayed me that I could look back and realize that it had become too strong. But then it was too late, and it had filled a space where something pure used to be.

It didn't matter how strong it grew while I was in the prison, it only pulled me up from the loneliness that had been about to drive me insane. I wasn't exactly moving away from the madness, but I stopped rushing towards it. The anger gave me a reason to exist there in the cell, in the cold - to do anything I could to pay them back, even if it was only as pathetic as another curse.

I got stronger, far stronger. I paid for it by giving up what I had been before, but that person was already dead.

To say that I felt better is a lie, however. Less desperate, yes, better no. Everything was just as hopeless as before, I was just going down screaming with rage instead of pain.

Because I had betrayed Daxter, mistaking HIM for him. I snarled as I curled up in my usual corner every night, staring at the specter of my imagination and asking him how I could ever make up for the treachery I had committed. But he never looked angry. I couldn't make him look angry, even if I, somewhere deep down, feared that he would be.

The situation didn't change, but I got stronger. The drug - the awake dreams keeping me breathing, they needed to be stronger too. I had to make up for what I had done to him.

He came closer. Every night, closer.

Not once had he managed to win against me when we fought for fun, wrestling around in the grass, sand or water around the village. My pride never allowed it, he could pout and mutter as much as he wanted - I was going to win. But that first time when his ghastly hand reached out and brushed against my cheek and I almost felt it, when he swung forwards and jabbed at my shoulder, playfully, I fell back. And he chuckled.

"What are you doing, Jak?"

And then he drifted away, only to step forwards and do the same thing again moments later. I didn't flinch from his transparent shoves as I did for the real, metallic ones. His were warm memories on my skin.

"Jak, what did you do?"

His voice was always playful, blue eyes scanning me curiously.

"Come on big guy, I know you're hiding something. Teeell meee..."

I never replied. This wasn't like finding a really cool shell on the beach and hide it, saving it for some special moment when I could give it to him. I never was good at keeping secrets.

And finally one night, when he leant forwards to ask, I reached up and curled my arms around his shoulders, dragging him down - I was on my back, it was half a wrestling match and he won without any effort.

_If I let you win, will you forgive me?_

He just laughed and melted away into the heavenly scenery of Sandover, wandering back towards me as I sat back up, numb spine pressed against the cold wall.

_Forgive me, please forgive me..._

The anger couldn't reach me here, not when I stared up at him and he flung himself down with a loud laughter, spreading his arms wide as he dove for me. I hit the floor again and he drifted off.

Eventually the guards started wondering why my side and arms were covered in bruises. The marks weren't quite shaped as they should be after rough hands.

They never did bother to investigate too deeply though. They didn't find Daxter, even if I worried a little.

He seemed to live a life of his own, slipping out of my weakening control - I didn't have to wish him around.

Finally one night he took my hands and dragged me forwards, both of us plunging into the warm waves of the ocean. I felt the salty water slip its carressing velvet over my skin just before Daxter's hands hit my lower back and I went down in a storm of bubbles - a real memory this time, a dirty little trick he used when nothing else worked. I heaved myself up above the surface and gasped for air, my own hands fumbling against him as he tried to keep the frail victory within his grasp.

Hands sliding over slick wet skin, his warm laughter filling my ears as I grinned.

But then he suddenly stopped laughing and looked into my eyes, the smile dying on my lips as well. A hand resting above my heart, my hand in a mirroring position.

He watched me strangely, until suddenly his lips tilted upwards again, braving the protruding teeth masterfully.

"It's gonna be okay, Jak. Okay?"

I didn't understand, but pulled him close. Because suddenly the fear bubbled up despite the roars of my anger.

And then daybreak came, and for all my struggling and swearing I met with the familiar table again.

Praxis was furious, impatient.

"Triple the dose, this is the last time!" he snarled.

I didn't have time to process this information before the agony exploded in a dark flare. I screamed until my voice broke and all that came out were load groans, grating my ears with their softness.

It ended.

"... should at least be dead with all the dark eco I've pumped into you!"

"... fear the Dark Warrior program has failed..."

"... finish this thing off tonight!"

"... I'll be back later."

I only caught snippets of their discussion, but it was enough. I felt the touch on my skin, breath on my face - Praxis left me to HIM, when Daxter had promised, he promised it would be okay!

So when that squeaky voice rose up and the unpleasant weight bounced around on my aching stomach - when it demanded me to _speak_ you little bastard I'll have you know just what I-

"I'm gonna kill Praxis!"

_And wring Erol's fucking neck!_ was close behind, but I didn't get that far. Not with the furry hand clamping down on my lips and it was all wrong, he shouldn't be like that, it wasn't him, right? It was all WRONG!

But no, no, no, that voice, that VOICE- I had been WAITING for it STOP IT-

I saw claws hovering above him as he covered, and the anger fell flat.

Because it WAS him.

"Daxter...?"

He stared at me, wide blue eyes glazed over with shock.

"What was that?"

But in the next moment he was cracking a nervous joke that I hardly registered, I just let him point me in the right direction as the familiar weight hopped onto my shoulder - it didn't care that I had been worried about it, it wanted to be there.

He did come for me.

And now, they call me a hero because I killed the monsters and saved the city. I'm not a hero. Ever since I was a kid I wanted to be a hero, but I lost my chance to be one. A hero doesn't go on a quest for revenge alone. A hero doesn't work for the mafia. An he doesn't stop caring. Caring whether or not he manages to avoid the pregnant woman with the little kid and pet as he speeds through the streets on a stolen vehicle, even if he's racing against time to save a dozen men from being eaten alive by metal heads.

Maybe at some point I'll be able to make up for it, but until then I'm not a hero.

I hate all that sentimental, melodramatic crap. But I do know what a hero is.

A hero is somebody who never gives up even if he has no idea where to start, who keeps grasping for hay and the slightest hope - never stops until he has fulfilled a promise. I needed a hero, and I got one.

Everyone else thinks that he's the sidekick. I guess he thinks so to.

I don't.


	2. Sympathy of the devil

_Author's note: _Oh, my precious readers, please proceed with caution and- stop! Don't open that door-

… drat. Oh dear… oh dear oh dear oh dear… don't panic, Jak is on his way! I promise! Just uh… stay alive!

Chapter 1, Descent

Oh, hello. Fancy seeing such a pretty little thing in this place. How did you get in?

I asked you a question, didn't you hear? I don't like it when people don't answer me. I really don't. You know who I am, don't you? Good. Now answer my first question.

Aha. Really? Well, I guess I'll have to replace those ones, then. Maybe add a few more, too… hmm? Where do you think you're going?

Such an amusing little face you're making. What, you didn't think I had a remote for the door? No way out for you, I'm afraid. I don't like intruders either.

My, you look like you're watching a ghost. Oh, ha ha. Very funny, aren't I?

Too scared to plea for mercy? Pity. I always enjoy a good plea.

You had heard of me before you came here, I take it? It's so nice knowing that such things can't be avoided. Don't worry, I'll make a larger imprint next time and make sure that nobody repeats your stupid little mistake. Then again, I could always use some distraction to lure that special somebody back to me, if nothing else works. You could be useful, after all… hmm. It's worth thinking about.

Ah, that's better. Break all those nails against the wall, now that's a nostalgic sight. Won't get you anywhere, no more than anybody else. But we all know that, now don't we? I was there too, sort of. Well, I didn't claw at any walls. I didn't even have any fingers then, I think. Difficult to say, really. I guess they were somewhere nearby… but they might have been crushed so badly that he just had them thrown away.

Strange that he cared to try any of this anyway, now that I think about it… oh, stop sobbing, it's boring. If you want to keep me amused you should try a nice screech of pain. Want me to help you with that?

No?

I know a lot of ways to make you sound really good. It's an art of mine, you could say. Every voice is different… ah, but there was that one voice, more beautiful than any other. Yes, before I heard that one I had not fully learnt to appreciate this art form. Sadly I have yet to find anything like it. No… really, I don't think I want to find its match.

There is a problem with that though. It irritates me, too. That time I mentioned, when I didn't have any fingers? Yes, there was a time back then when I screamed so loud that I became uncertain whether it was my voice, or that beautiful one. Now that is aggravating.

Sigh.

I guess that it's the scream of a man losing everything he had before. It wasn't just the fingers, no. There's a little bit left, up here, all packed up and secure beneath the steel. Other than that, I am perfect.

Keep that look, I like that.

Oh yes, it was very painful. It was hell. I would like you to know a bit of it too, so I'll see to it in a short while. Something like that, ah… it needs to be shared. I simply can't live, if that's the word, with the idea of anybody getting away from knowing even a small piece of what I went through.

So that is my reason, really. Now, what is your reason? Idiot. I mean for coming here, of course. Didn't know what you were getting into. They never do.

Actually, I didn't either. He called it duty. He liked that word, let me tell you. I didn't really care, I didn't really have any reason to. I didn't worry either… oh, so I slipped there. You get used to knowing that everyone is too scared of you to lift a finger, you know? Oh, you don't. Of course. It's like a drug, you only want more of it once you've had it. Everyone looks for it in different places though.

Me? I wasn't that interested in the masses. I had them under my thumb, he had them under his heel. What fascinated me was that which he never cared about. Details. He should have cared more about the details… I guess he did, in the end. Oh yes, I sure got to feel that. But then again, I wasn't a detail.

Neither was that voice. We were… special. Damn, there I go, putting myself in the same group again.

It can't be avoided I suppose. We were special. We are special. We survived.

What are you looking at, hm? It might be unhealthy.

Oh fine, so I didn't exactly survive. Just this last little piece of meat left, plugged full of wires behind this forehead. Want to see it? Thought so.

That's better. Now stay like that.

Where was I? Voice… special… details… masses. Right, that.

There was that girl, you see. Pretty little thing. Noticed because she came out of nowhere, and built racing vehicles. I guess I was attracted to her for a bit. Can't really remember how that felt.

Well, it wasn't just what she did. She did build some amazing vehicles. But there was something else.

It still amuses me, even now, that she never knew who I was. You might have thought that she was stupid… no, she was very bright. Too bright for her own good. But I was better at hiding. Because you see, it was something she let slip the fourth time we happened to talk. Guess she had began to drop her defenses then. She mentioned that she was looking for a friend, and wondered if I had seen him.

Ah, that description she gave. She was so… fiery about it.

That's another good expression. No, I haven't practiced this laugh. It comes naturally.

Spot on. Yes, I knew exactly who she meant. I could have told her. And I was tempted, because it would have been so funny to see her expression then. But no, I never did tell her. I let her think that I was sorry to be unable to help.

Do you understand why? No?

That is power. I held her in the palm of my hand, and she didn't even know about it. I could have crushed her at any opportunity and I reveled in that knowledge. Just as I looked forwards to silencing that voice. Silencing it to let it live on in my memory, forever.

I kept her floating in ignorance, enjoying every moment of it. She was beautiful like that. Oh, and it was beautiful when that voice tried to speak to her, and she didn't listen. She told me that she was worried about it, that it had changed. Told me that. And I could have crushed her at any moment.

That… is power. Pure power, to have another soul so completely in your grasp.

Sigh.

But then things went downhill. All the way until that crash.

And I woke up.

When he spoke of duty back then, I didn't really understand. He had the damn piece of rock that he had spent months and months fretting about. What was I supposed to be? Backup, I was informed. They had a plan to deal with the metal heads, but there was that other… irritation.

There ought to be a better word for moron. I hesitate to use fool, because that means somebody who has no idea, no plan. He had an idea. Ideals, even. Cold, hard ideals tipped with sharp steel edges. Entrancing. No, he was no fool. Now, moron, that's somebody who manages to let something slip right out of his hands.

He had his fair share of the drug, and he knew what he needed to do. Hell, we needed him to do it. He wanted us to survive, that was all there was to it really. Didn't matter how, or even if there was much left of us… as long as we came out alive in one way or another. I wanted to survive too, I suppose. Can't remember how that felt, either. Nowadays, the idea of not getting to finish what I started- no, it's not fear. But I would be very irritated if I did not get to see it to the end. That is, the end I want.

There's the same word again. Irritation. Ironic that I keep making connections, isn't it? Voice, irritation… that voice remains an irritation. But ah… I would love to hear it again. Not just in any fashion. No, no… it hasn't screamed for so long, I know. That needs to be set right.

I lost the track again, didn't I? But you're being a good little thing not interrupting me. Did you know who I was before you stepped inside?

Didn't know I was here?

Fool.

So… yes, he thought he had a good idea about the metal heads. We all know how that went, now don't we? How I know? Kid, I can hook myself onto the entire Haven intelligence database. If I want I can see him die from three different angles.

Of course he had security cameras set up in there too. He was so anxious about that he could've wet- no, not him. He was just very anxious about his little bomb. It might have been amusing to tinker with, but I'll rather play with the more sophisticated things.

It remains a rather amusing show. I look at it now and then.

And you see, all those security cameras… I'll let you in on a little secret. You won't squeal, now will you? Trust me, you won't.

Cameras all over the place, always. I can find just about anything, from quite a while back.

We discussed, we cursed, we swore- he nearly tore the remaining hair out. I really found it amusing to watch, because I didn't see it as much a problem as a nuisance. A funny little nuisance. Yes, yes… it plucked my own soldiers like flies. But it was still just a nuisance. Those who got downed by something like that, they shouldn't have been in that armor in the first place.

I'm leaping back in time a little again, see? You're following me, I hope.

What we discussed, it was that nuisance. The voice.

It just seemed to have no weaknesses. But you know, I watched those tapes, and I thought about it. Because they caught some sound too.

There was that one word that struck me as interesting. Well, a name, really. I remember being rather irritated hearing it, because I was confused.

The voice looked at that rat, and all that which we had worked to create, it fell back. Again. But that wasn't what interested me when we watched that scene for the first time. Praxis… he was busy fretting about the fact that the voice had claws and horns. Ah yeah, and the fact that it slipped outside and disappeared into the city.

Me, I listened to what it said. It repeated something I had heard before.

Not screaming, not screeching… yet, that voice was beautiful again right then, speaking that name. Do you know it?

Yes… "Daxter". You should hear it spoken like the voice did, though.

The voice was weak then, so utterly weak and confused. Almost like the first time I heard that name, but even better.

I just don't get why it looked at me and talked to a rat, but really… I don't care. Maybe I'll ask it at some point.

Hmm? What's that look, now? Do you know something?

Really. I'll have you talk in a while, trust me. But right now… this is kind of enjoyable.

I don't care what that rat is supposed to be, but I do know that I found something there. Something so obviously a weakness. Too bad we never got around checking it out too well, it would have been interesting to see if I was right. See, the soldiers had their hands full trying to survive against the voice. They never had the mind left to aim for the rat.

Idiots.

Where was I, again? Backup… right. I was fucking backup. Secondary. Me! Secondary! But you know, Praxis had learnt something from the voice. That would be that if you're going to create a monster, make sure that it can't get away. He talked about duty, and he knew I wanted to stand up and crush his skull all the while.

Just that… well, I didn't have any legs.

No arms either. I was just… a remain. Watching. Listening. Sometimes I could reply. Sometimes they didn't bother to give me that ability.

You think you can picture hell, I'm sure… you have no idea. Somewhere around then was when my voice mixed with that one voice, inside my mind. I screamed, trust me… I screamed.

And then they suddenly came rushing down there, a good deal of soldiers. My, were they disturbed. I had never seen those slugs of scientists working so fast. Praxis dead. Metal heads in the city. Beautifully done. We all knew it was just a question of time, didn't we?

Then, there was the fun part. They pieced me together like a puzzle, all the while making such pathetic screeches and blabbering about how I was needed out there.

I just smiled. I have to admit that they put a lot of impressive work into my face, it was quite lovingly rendered. Because of that I can still produce a whole lot of expressions. I smashed it in a fit of anger though, the first time I caught my own reflection. Cranky, cranky.

I love watching Praxis crash into that scaffold. Would have been better if I was the one sending him flying, but… you take what you can get.

Yes, yes… getting back on track.

When they finally had finished connecting all the circuits, set all the plugs right and turned the last screw, I stood up. Finally.

And then, then was the really fun part. When one of them came up with the bright suggestion that I make sure of my new abilities before going to protect the city.

One of the better suggestions I've heard, really.

Do I need to tell you what I did? My, you're a bright one. You don't have to hear it… you can guess.

And… you're right. Not a single one of them left alive. Or in one piece. The cameras caught that too. I removed those files from the database, though. I didn't want to spoil the surprise for anyone else. But I still have them stored in here. Want to see? It would be a nice appetizer for you.

What a bore you are.

Well, anyway… I got out of there, and I watched the city crumble from above. It was really funny, watching all those little ants running around. Sadly I never did catch sight of the voice. I knew it was out there somewhere, but sadly it eluded me.

But I heard another voice.

How to describe it… at first I thought that I was picking up some random radio signal. It was like a distant, irritating wailing. Not sure if I would have shut it off if I could, but as it were it just became something in the back of my mind as I watched the chaos beneath me.

And it just came together. After a while, the wailing began to make sense. No, there were no words, not like you would define it. Just the emotion in it. Intention.

They were sending out signals to find planets like this. Not exactly expecting a reply, but they got one. Then they were curious.

You would think that creatures like the Dark Makers are intelligent. Well, I suppose they are, in a way. But at the same time they are very simplistic. I believe that they somehow know what they are doing, but they act on impulses alone. Very interesting impulses, mainly considering how to squish everything soft. I guess they didn't expect finding somebody who sympathized.

They didn't really know what to make of me, see. But they are easily fascinated. And they did somehow know that there was a danger here, somebody who the precursors trusted in. Well informed bastards. I could have lived without that knowledge.

There were a lot of other things that I wanted to know, however. And they did tell me a lot.

That was how I learnt to communicate with the metal heads as well. Ah… they were much like the Dark Makers, confused around me. But they were lost, so pathetically lost, without their darling leader. They just don't know what to do without that big hand pointing and saying "kill THAT one".

I'm surrounded by huge children with fangs and claws, really. So grateful for my robots. They never hesitate, not even before they have been given a purpose. Well, metal heads can get the job done, and they can sniff their way to eco from miles away. Especially very concentrated eco.

Crystals, yes…

Ahh… that was the first time I saw the voice again, because of a crystal. I didn't expect it to see it there, and I was quite irritated that I wasn't prepared. Not to mention that it took that crystal. Well, I have a few more… but it's still irritating.

I made sure that I was the one prepared the next time we came, ah… face to face, so to speak. The voice is good at frowning, but I would rather hear it scream. It looks sickeningly healthy these days. More life in those eyes.

It'll be so sweet crushing it.

I suppose that's it, really. Now, about you, my little friend-

Hmm? Now what, the alarm?

…

You're in luck. Looks like there's a better playmate for me incoming right this moment. Ah, the voice, the voice… it's finally here. I don't have time for you, I'm afraid. Out of my way.

Oh, don't give me that look. You're just not important. I don't care whether you get out of here or not.

Because I'll silence the voice forever, and then I'll destroy this pitiful world. It doesn't matter where you go.

But do tell everyone you came face to face with the late commander Erol, if you feel like it. I'm sure that they will make very funny faces. Not as good as yours, surely, but good enough.

Ta-ta.


	3. Evening breeze

Chapter 2, Spargus evening

'

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Jak.

'

People often wonder how I can possibly stay sane with Daxter around 24/7. It's not that I don't understand what they mean. He's loudmouthed, anxious, weak and very seldom able to lend me a hand in the battles.

He's everything that I'm not, really.

Opposites attract? No, it's more than that. I hope we can agree on that the "having a wimpy sidekick makes the hero look tougher"-crap is pure bull, too. With everything that I have become, that I was _created_ to be, I don't need a midget to add a jarring chord.

I guess gratitude really is a large piece of the puzzle. A very complicated sort of gratitude.

He got me out of Praxis' prison. There is nothing, _nothing_, that anybody else ever can do to measure up to that. I can't even begin to understand how he survived on the streets, all alone for two years, and kept looking for me.

Was the knowledge that I had been lonely too, so terribly lonely, the thing that made him stay with me throughout all those months that followed? The months when the only difference between me and a psychopath was that I took orders from others?

I scared everyone, I know I did, and I didn't have time to stop and care. But he, he still sat on my shoulder all the time even though he knew I could hardly control myself whenever the anger took control. Every time I woke up from that red haze only to find the world still red, the color covering me and filling my mouth – the times when I choked and hurled, trembling hands pressed against a wall or tree, anything to support me. All those times when I finally sunk down beside the disgusting stains of crimson vomit, hugging myself desperately to keep from retching again – then there were small paws on my forehead, sorting through the threads of hair plastered to my soaked skin.

_"Sheez, Darkie sure was pissed today, wasn't he? Probably got bored not getting any action for a while. Pff. Buddy, you gotta tell'im that patience is a virtue."_

Always something like that.

Daxter was the one who dubbed the anger "Dark Jak". He gave it a name, distanced it from me. That thing that drank elf blood and ripped metal heads apart to chew on their limbs, it wasn't me. Because Daxter said so.

And he was qualified to say so, because he watched. All the time. And despite that, he always stayed on my shoulder, even when I wasn't me, because he still trusted me enough to believe that I wouldn't try to hurt him again… that I wouldn't let Dark Jak try again. And people claim that Daxter is a coward?

Nobody else would ever even consider going that close to Dark Jak. Because he's chaotic evil that's just slightly nicer than metal heads, because there is something within him that's still human.

And yet… it's _not_ true. Dark Jak is not another person, he is me. It's never anybody else who slices up the opponents, beast and elf alike, who roars at the fleeing survivors and pursue them until not a single one is left alive. It's always, always me, just… rawer. It's _my_ rage that drives _me_ to do all those things. People just like to deny it and think of Dark Jak as an entirely other being. I want to deny it too, but I can't… not alone.

It's only true when Daxter denies it, because he's the only one who's spent enough time with me to reach that conclusion. And then… I can almost believe that it's not me, too. If he just keeps telling me that, then I can forget what I actually know about Dark Jak.

I need him around, to keep reminding me. Even now, when the white eco has pushed the darkness back, I still need reminders every now and then – because it's not gone. It'll never go away. It's just further back, resting beneath a thin layer of light within my mind. Just because it's sleepier doesn't mean that it's dormant.

_"Freaky-cool! Let's call him Light Jak!"_

Yes, the light finally dragged me up from the mental muck that just couldn't be reasoned away, that stuff that always slouched about within me and irritated me even when I didn't even notice it. I feel better now, far, far better.

But there are things even the light can't do… I just don't want to think about that.

…

Sig asked me once, how I can stand bringing Daxter with me all the time. He whines and prophesizes about every single thing that might go wrong, from the moment I get the order, on the way to the danger zone, through the entire mission and up until the moment we finish it up and start heading back. How can I put up with that?

Why doesn't anybody ever ask why he keeps following me through it all, when he's so scared? Or maybe they just ask him that, and not me. I don't know.

I couldn't explain it to Sig. Just couldn't put to words that it's like… like we have a deal. He tells me everything that he's scared of, and I make sure that nothing of it ever happens.

So, when I couldn't give him an answer, Sig asked about the aftermath instead. The part when Daxter – often more or less drunk – starts telling the story about our day. A very warped story, of course, exaggerating everything and glorifying himself in front of anybody who's willing to listen and get a sneer. He looks like an idiot in the process of course, and we all know that he's lying. But he just loves the limelight and the giggles he can get.

Giggles.

Bah.

I actually could have explained that to Sig, but I didn't.

What Daxter does is… he sees it all. Every last disgusting detail, depending on how close I need to go to finish the mission. And then he takes it and makes it sound stupid. Takes the blood, the claws descending on me, the breaking bones and shattered skulls spilling over with gore – and makes people laugh, because he tells it as if it's silly.

_"And then there were twenty less metal heads in the world! Hoo-ha!"_

Might be true now and again, but not thanks to him. We all know that, right? But it's good for a laugh, such a comedy act. Everyone gets a laugh, and if Tess is there he's guaranteed a nice little petting by dainty, pink nails. And giggles. Giggles.

Of course it's tasteless. Making jokes about marauders and metal heads being reduced to unrecognizable lumps of flesh should in no way be amusing. But we're all coldhearted bastards living in a cold, evil world, now aren't we?

And Daxter can make it seem funny, against all odds.

I need that. All the things I do, the walking nightmare I passed through a few hours earlier? The ruthless scum I am? The mon- no. He creates a distance to all that, and I desperately need that _somebody_ who _knows_ and still can shrug it off with a laugh, even if the smile comes hours later. Somebody who can make it seem _not so bad_.

But telling Sig that? The guy's like a big brother to me, but… he'd toss me into the Survival Program Wasteland Style – for a month, no questions asked, no insurance paid, no objections heard. Kindly so, of course.

Mental relief is not supposed to be like that, I suppose. But alcohol just doesn't have the same effect as Daxter's babbling, it just blurs things a little, doesn't make them go away.

Daxter makes me feel okay again. People think he's a pet, and that's fine – especially that all the people and creatures wanting my blood think that he's just a pet. There's a great number of people that need to never find out that Daxter really _is_ a friend, that he's important.

And… when I think "Daxter", I think of that scrawny friend of mine who dove into the ocean with me, who laid in the grass beside me counting stars, who… whom I pushed into the dark eco and who kept me "sane" through my time in prison.

It's just that I forget that part about his fuzziness when I'm not watching him. When I just listen to his voice, it's like it slips my mind that he's an ottsel.

Of course I know that he's the way he is, but I can forget that because he's just the same as he ever was. It's just a pain to be reminded, every time I turn to look at him and see the small fuzz ball instead of the elf with the blond-red hair.

But he's still here, and that's all that matters.

It's not a question of "dealing with" having him around. It's more like I get to have him with me despite everything he's frightened of – everything that isn't me, even when I sprout claws, horns and fangs.

I have a debt to pay, too… for screwing up his life by turning him into an ottsel, to repay him for saving me, for him daring to stay with me, and most of all for my betrayal in the prison. I need to have him here so I can keep repaying him, every day. It's the only thing I can do, and it's the least he deserves.

And because I love him, I couldn't bear not to have him with me.

'

End Introspection.

'

* * *

Jak really liked Spargus. Sure it was hot and rough, but it was alive. Every stone laid upon the walls of every building had been dragged there and slammed down with one thought only; "We're gonna live!"

It was essentially the opposite to Haven. Big plus there. Huge, really.

Survival in Haven was completely different from survival in Spargus. In Haven, it was all about making it out on top if you wanted food for the day, so everyone constantly tried to claw their each other's eyes out to keep them from winning.

Yes, yes… survival of the fittest, it always worked like that. The difference was that in Spargus the battles were set with rules, with everyone watching. Damas watching. And if anything threatened Spargus, every last man, woman, child and pet would rush towards it with weapon in hand to defend each other, while in Haven there would be a stampede in the other direction and maybe a few nervous cheers to the armored men running off to put their lives on the line.

Spargus was dusty and sandy. So what? Haven was a smog-filled dump, even more so now that most of it had been smashed or terraformed into something looking like the inside of a snake's belly.

But there were lives there, countless lives crouching in the shadows, frightened voices whispering prayers for somebody to save them. And as much as he loathed as good as everything that Haven symbolized, Jak just could not ignore those voices. He had tried for a while, still burnt by their judgment… but coming there, seeing them again, it broke the rage. Time, and white eco eased his hatred as well – it had become harder to get angry.

Now he could look back at all the little things that had dug into his nerves, small, stupid things that used to irritate him… and just shake his head at himself. The dark eco had always had him on the edge, in the worst moments almost driving him to snarl at Samos to stop scratching his beard in that irritating way when thinking.

Haven needed him. His friends needed him.

But with the war factory destroyed, he had been able to return to Spargus – with the excuse to look for useful artifacts of course. Though he hesitated to admit it aloud, it was a relief. Not only because it was easier to breathe in the desert.

As he sat on a rough stone bench in the shadow with his back against a cooling wall, Jak closed his eyes and let the ocean breeze flow over him, filling his nostrils with the memories of simpler times. The evening brought a lower temperature and more energy to the children dashing about, screaming and whacking away at each other with makeshift "weapons". If he tapped at it carefully, Jak could make his memory mingle another child's laugh into the other's, a voice that only had gotten squeakier with the teenage development.

The teenage development he had been cruelly dropped from, landing him with an even shriller voice. Jak pursed his lips and forced those thoughts away, willing the laughter to return.

He did it carefully, however, because all the time he knew that it was akin to the madness he had hovered within not too long ago. It could never become "too long ago".

Gah.

Grimacing he opened his eyes and watched the scenery for a while. Beyond the sharp cut of the cliff the ocean spread out towards the horizon, and a few desert snappers screeched to each other as they flitted through the breeze. The children still played, ignoring the uncouth warriors watching them to make sure they did not get too close to the cliffs.

They had fun, but there was no mistaking the diffuse plan behind the game. Even these kids would have to earn their battle amulets one day, and they were preparing for that moment with every smack of colliding staffs made of sand reed. And laughing all the while.

Jak closed his eyes again and leant further back against the wall, making himself forget the harshness waiting for the kids again while his fingers idly scratched the fuzzy warmth curled up on his lap.

Laughter. Focus on the laughter. Just for fun, nothing else.

Small feet running in the sand, warm waves suddenly slipping up to the ankles and turning the dry sound into merry splashes.

Bigger feet, slightly louder, deeper voice. The figure grew.

Jak frowned.

_"Come on, Jak, I don't have all day!"_

He focused, pushing the images back. Children!

The laughter shrunk back into the almost girlish squeal again, loosing what little maturity it had had. And the frown eased a little.

It was less uncanny to recall childhood memories instead.

No… uncanny wasn't quite right either.

Jak let out a silent sigh.

"Mmh, right there, Jak…"

His eyes snapped open and he blinked down at Daxter's small, furry form and his own fingertips working at the area just behind the little ears. For a moment he was frozen, but then his lips twitched without any joy and he resumed scratching.

Daxter never seemed to notice anything.

This sigh was harder to stifle.

Thinking about Daxter as he had been when they both were children… it became less of a pain to be reminded of the truth when looking at him. Jak really thought he should have gotten used to it by now, but the dull stitch of regret never seemed to change.

Nothing ever changed…

_The metal head fell to the floor, but instead of the darkness they had expected to see floating out of it… there was light. A pure cloud of puffy, shimmering light._

_Lowering gun, bloodless fingers clenching around it._

The frown returned, and he shook his head. It did not help.

_White eco?_

_The oracle had granted him healing powers, but he hadn't really believed that to mean that there would be white eco right in front of them just a few minutes later. Neither of them had._

_Looking at Daxter, the teeth chewing the furry lower lip, eyes wide and almost glassy._

It hurt too much. He tried to stop thinking, but his mind had a tendency to slip on the things he had not practiced to forget yet.

_"Wanna try?"_

_Gulp. Sudden hope, but scared… scared that maybe, maybe nothing will happen…?_

_"Y-yeah! O'course!"_

_Weight slipping down arm, careful with the claws around bare skin. Skittering feet across floor. Swirling…_

Jak clenched his teeth, but there was no going back. He shifted his grip, stroking the back of the small head he had been scratching. Daxter mumbled something in a sleepy voice, unaware of the memories that marched through his friend's mind.

_Orange__ fur glimmering with the fading light, but nothing happens. Standing there, watching his small paws… silent, ears drooping, eyes half closed. Looking up, trying to shrug, smile, hide disappointment._

_Chest burns. Hardly helps to put gun away, lift him up, hold him._

_I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…_

_"Well ah… g-good thing we saved the world back there on the silos, eh?"_

_Mutter something, can't speak, can't tell how sorry, so sorry… want to tell him to stop trying so hard._

_Can eventually move again, continuing through the temple in silence._

Jak sighed.

He looked up at the area around him again, noting that the sun was halfway down the horizon now. Break time was almost over. The children did not seem to think so, their game instead intensifying as the air cooled. Their laughter and the soft smacks bit by bit became the only sounds disturbing the lonely whisper of wind across sand, and low howl as the breeze found its way through crevasses in the cliffs. The birds had begun to find their way to their nests.

Really, he was not supposed to have a "break time" in the first place. But considering that the last weeks had been spent running around like a maniac and gunning down anything with claws or colored red for the sake of Haven city, and just an hour ago narrowly making it back to safety before the sandstorm really hit… Jak had decided that he needed a break, world be damned. He could save it tomorrow.

Involuntarily his gaze traveled upwards, as if driven by a sudden stitch of guilt.

The daystar glared back down, its light never changing whether it was day or night.

Eyesore.

And Erol was still out there somewhere. So was Veger.

Argh.

Jak stood, the peace once and for all broken. A vague protest against the movement came from Daxter, but he soon settled in the nest of his friend's arms instead.

Trying not to let the frustration root too deeply again, Jak began his trek up Spargus' main street. Every now and then somebody would wave a calloused hand at him in greeting, something he mostly just nodded in reply to. Carrying Daxter around "like a little doll" of course earned a few smirking comments, but it was nothing that fazed him.

The warm, flicking light of candles began lighting up the windows he passed beneath, outlining Spargus with their gentle glow. Not even the light was of the manufactured kind here.

Eventually he could climb the stairs and push the door open to the small home he had been granted after the first arena victory. Just someplace to sleep, really.

With the windows tightly shut it was almost pitch dark inside, but it did not bother him too much. Without letting go of Daxter he kicked the door shut behind them, and lightly pressed his shoulder against the wall to feel his way across the first room and into the second. With so little furniture, there was nothing he had to worry about stumbling on.

Well in the next room he hunched down and felt his way across the simple, woven mat on the floor with one hand. As soon as he found the pillow he set Daxter down on it and went to take off his equipment.

The safely locked up morph gun created a metallic clatter as it met the floor, but the silence stretched as Jak blindly sought for the straps on his armor.

Minutes and muttered curses passed, now and again interrupted by triumphant hisses as Jak's donkey-inspired power of stubbornness won the battle against the darkness. Piece by piece the protective gear landed on the floor – leg protector, gauntlets, shoulder-

Oh shit.

Jak bit back a hiss as a chilling pain shot through his shoulder in the moment he reached too far back for the straps.

'Not again…' he thought, grimacing.

More carefully he reached up and pressed down on his back, just beside the top of the left shoulder blade. Another wince as his fingertips slipped on a hard lump beneath his skin, sending another cold flare all around the surrounding expanse of muscles.

Crap.

Apparently he had been ignoring these bloody things for too long again.

The sound of a yawn sent his knitted eyebrows twitching.

"Whazzit now?" Daxter mumbled.

"Nothing."

Replied too quickly. He could almost feel the sluggish blink, and even more so the evil grin slowly creeping onto his friend's features as the realization dawned.

"Jaaak…"

Sleepiness gone, exchanged for a throaty parody of a ghost's frightening whisper.

"Guh."

Jak grunted, letting the hand slip over his shoulder and down into his lap.

"Okay, okay…" he muttered, "tomorrow. It's too damn dark now."

For the bigger part of the time Jak spent carefully finishing the removal of the last armor pieces, the sound of Daxter's chuckling hung in the darkness. After finally being free of it all Jak heaved a sigh and crawled onto the mat. He stretched out, once again concluding that the pillow was hard as a rock. But it worked for a tired head.

As soon as he placed his left hand beside his head there was a muted, rustling sound. Within a moment tiny hands grabbed his pointing finger, and a fuzzy cheek soon followed.

Raar! Mine!

With a low, content mumble Daxter settled with his new pillow. Jak's lips stretched a little.

The warrior closed his eyes, knowing that the next day would bring more world-saving, and a little piece of heaven and hell.

Mostly hell.

He tried to fall asleep despite this knowledge.

* * *

'

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Jak.

'

I'm not irritated by any of Daxter's tried and tired gags, because they're okay with me, they still make me smile. But him and Tess in the same room could make a metalpede puke. And that thing wouldn't have the headache I get from the sugar.

Sigh.

Okay, let's get a few things straight.

I'm shock full of dark eco.

I'm impatient on the verge of idiocy.

I can with a single thought become the embodiment of menacing.

I'm definitely one of the most dangerous men in the world.

And I'm in love with my best friend. Who's fuzzy, two feet tall and likes girls. Dainty, girly girls.

This… is not good.


	4. On a warrior's back

_Author's note: _Thanks for all the reviews, and especially thanks to Neoecco who betaed this chapter :)  
Uhm, yeah… I realize that the switches between point of views can be irritating, but please bear with me – they will be consistent, that I promise. I'm doing them as a test, because I've written so many stories in a "normal" style that I'm getting a little bored with it and want to try something different.

Chapter 3, Partnership

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Daxter.

Heey! It's everyone's favorite cuddly, funny little ottsel! Did'ya miss me? Know you did.

If you wanna know anything about moron-safe flirting, comedy acts, sweet lovin' and Jak, you've come to the right place.

… I just said "sweet lovin'" and "Jak" in the same breath, didn't I? Oops.

Well, it just can't be helped. I always seem to get back to that subject no matter what I'm entertaining people about. My life is based on the guy, in case you've failed to notice. Especially my _continued_ life.

No thanks to his kamikaze tendencies, of course. I used to think that his hobby of using lurkers as punching bags was bad, but now?

"Metal heads? How many, three hundred? Really? Wohoo, let's go!"

Okay, so he wouldn't be caught dead in a mousetrap saying that, but it's the general idea. Whenever those ears perk up like wumpbee antennas at the smell of honey, you know there's trouble.

… please don't tell him I just drew a parallel between him and wumpbees. He'll flip. Trust me, he'll flip. Hard. Only way to make him flip harder would be to tell him something like "Y'know, sometimes when you grin like that it makes me think of Baron Praxis."

And now I'm starting to scare myself, so we'll stop _right there_.

Ahem.

Sooo, anyway. I'm the second half of the Demolition Duo DeLuxe, and you better believe me when I say that Jak wouldn't last a second without me. 'Cause he couldn't.

… okay, so he could. But no longer than that. Happy now?

The point is, there's a duo right there. Yep, duo. Not just Jak, there're two of us, baby! He brings the guns and action, and I take care of the little things. Like observations. And Jak. Not that he's a "little" thing.

And yet people don't think too much of me for some reason. Take Torn for example. He just loooves to call me a rat, wimp, dog food, whatever. Pff. Like he's got any bragging rights. Can _he_ make Jak squirm? Didn't think so. Too bad I can't tell him that, because Jak would chop up my tail if I ever let this one slip. Oh well… it's mine and my blonde's little secret.

Not that I, uhm… like it that much. But you just can't help but grin at it, y'know?

End Introspection.

* * *

"Ow!"

"Sheez! Good thing I found this one before it locked up… hepp!"

"Muscles don't do tha- rrgh!"

"What are you, man or pansy? If anyone heard you complain so much because of some tense nerves they'd toss ya off a cliff."

Daxter underlined his point by digging his heel into Jak's back and rolling it over the offending muscle knot. The victim of the treatment bit the pillow to keep from giving the smirking ottsel the tease-fodder of another groan, thinking that "massage" was just another word for "friendly torture".

"This thing's the size of mossman's eyeballs. With the glasses on, that is," Daxter informed.

He continued to work on the lump with his heel, using just a little less force this time.

"Mmrgh," Jak eloquently replied, still with the cloth between his teeth.

"Why don't you get this fixed more often, hotshot?"

"Mechu ong a chachu."

Daxter crossed his arms and looked down at the blond-green spikes pointing at him. After a moment he reached out and pulled one of the long ears.

"What?" he said.

Using his tongue Jak pushed the pillow cloth out of his mouth, but it was with a slight reservation that he dared to let go. He turned his head and looked at the ottsel from the corner of his eye, suspiciously.

"I said 'because you're a sadist'," he said.

This earned him a scoff from Daxter.

"I am not!" the little guy proclaimed.

"Sure you ain't- ow! Goddammit!"

"Hey, here's another one!"

Jak nearly chewed through the pillow as the small feet marched across his bare back in the search for more tense nerves.

"You could use some of these for bullets, I tell ya," Daxter said while strutting about, "either you need to cut down on the tension or we're gonna have to do this more often."

Jak's eyes rolled at the mere thought of the second option.

"No way in hell…" he growled, burying his face in the slightly moist lump of cloth and feathers.

Soft knees landed on either side of his spine, and a second later a pair of small hands pushed down on his neck, the claws safely pulled in. A deep intake of air slowly caused Daxter's perch to raise and fall, and he grinned to himself as he began kneading the area before him.

"Thaaat's it, babe. Nice and soft."

After a while Jak turned his head and let his cheek press against the pillow instead, eyes closed as his breathing grew more steady and the shoulders began to sag from their tense posture.

"Ya know, if it became known that you're such a weakling we'd all be doomed. Imagine any nutjob just sneaking up from behind and poking at the right place-"

He suddenly paused and Jak immediately tensed, expecting just that kind of jab into a sore spot. But when Daxter cackled, the blonde knew that he had fallen for a false alarm. Shooting a dirty look in the ottsel's general direction, Jak moved his hands to rest beneath his cheek to collect himself.

"… and that'd be the end of it," Daxter continued, poking the neck with one fingertip, "no wonder you need me to watch your back, eh? Though as far as I remember this wasn't in the job description."

"You _are_ watching my back," Jak muttered.

"Yeah, yeah… smartass."

"Mmf."

Smirking, Daxter returned to the neck rub.

"I tell you, it wouldn't hurt so freakin' much if you didn't let these buggers get so freakin' big before you freakin' ask me to deal with 'em. Sure it's macho and all to fight the system, but think about me! It's a pain to sort them out, and your complaining ain't helping."

Jak just mumbled something inaudible somewhere in the middle and at the end of the yapping. A soft warmth spread across his back and arms from the area that Daxter worked on. This would be the "heaven" part.

But just as he was about to drift off, the small hands disappeared and the weight on his back centralized on the two small places where Daxter's feet were positioned. Sighing, Jak took the pillow between his teeth again.

"Ready?" came from above.

"Mmf."

Jak pinched his eyes tightly shut, chewing the cloth as the small heel came down straight on the first big lump again. It did not hurt quite as much as before since he had managed to relax, but it was still uncomfortable. Hello, hell.

Okay, so this really was pathetic for a guy like him. It was not like he hadn't endured hours and hours of things that made this stuff seem like a trip to the café. But the bolts of pain from where the tense nerves were kneaded and crushed were only a fraction of it, and an excuse.

Pain made him tense. Pain made the anger stir. And pain shot a searing instinct straight into his backbone that he needed to stifle.

This is Daxter, just Daxter trying to help, don't fight back, it hurts but _don't fight back_.

Biting the pillow helped him stay calm and continue allowing Daxter to be the stronger one until the massage was finished. It was a stretch, it would always be a stretch, and getting to the current point had taken a lot of time and psyching for Jak to agree to.

And letting anybody else do what Daxter now did was something that the blonde could not even begin to consider. Not even Keira. Only those two small hands – and feet – could he deal with, secretly wondering what it would feel like if they had not been quite so small and fuzzy. As long as they were the same hands.

Jak grunted when the pressure increased again, relaxing only slightly as the pain slowly began to ease up. It was buckling now, as the tense nerves bit by bit melted beneath Daxter's insistent kneading. At least… this lump was. There were others.

Another groan had to be stopped.

Standing on his friend's back Daxter looked down, studying the skin his heel pressed against. A thin scar went straight across the impact area – too thin and straight to be the work of a metal head's claws.

Fuzzy ears drooped.

He really knew nothing about what Jak had lived through. Jak spoke with nobody about Praxis' prison.

Nobody.

Not that he could not imagine – anyone who even got a glimpse of Jak's scars could. Only half of them could have been gained from battle. A few were of questionable origin and could with some goodwill be credited to daggers or claws merely scratching the skin, but… too many were still obviously created with surgical expertise. And all the tiny pricks from needles, too... all over, even on his neck.

But Daxter tried not to imagine, because it was just too horrible. Just seeing all the lighter lightning bolts and dots marking Jak's skin, and knowing that if he had just been quicker, there would have been fewer. Even if it was just one or two fewer…

Even the smallest mental image could make his fuzzy little body shudder and made him want to cower, hiding from the thundering guilt with his arms over his head. In an egoistical way he was glad that Jak never even gave a broad idea of anything that had happened, because the mere thought of hearing the details made Daxter's stomach churn.

But at the same time, he knew that he would listen to every last word if the pain ever got the better of Jak. That pain that was so excruciatingly obvious in those blue eyes sometimes.

The bump beneath the skin was getting smaller by the minute. He sat down on his knees again, exchanging the heel for his hands despite the stinging feeling creeping up the bony arms. He clenched his teeth and continued to rub.

Jak moved again, and Daxter threw a glance upwards. That made it worth any pain his tired arms could throw at him.

Heavy eyelids hung over the blue irises as the blonde returned to the position with his cheek against the pillow, and the knitted eyebrows had moved up to a far more relaxed position, taking the constant scowl away with them. Even if there was no smile on the lips, a hint of it hung over the tranquil face.

Daxter let out a silent sigh of relief as he watched Jak's dreamy look. Much, much better… he winced, unwillingly.

_Eyebrows knitting in discomfort, dirty fingertips fumbling and pressing down on shirt stretched across skin._

_"Oi! You got an aching shoulder there, buddy? Want me to rub it for ya?"_

_Blinking eyes, twitching eyebrows. Head shake, small movement but a little too forceful. Rustling cloth, standing up and leaving. _

_The one left behind is surprised. _

_Frown, realization. _

_Suspicion. Always the suspicion._

_He doesn't want to be touched._

A knock on the door jostled both of them out of their thoughts – or well, Jak out of his sweet oblivion. With an irritated groan he heaved himself up, Daxter slipping onto the floor.

"Whazzit?" Jak called, setting himself cross-legged on the mat.

He looked straight ahead, watching the door open from across the dusky main room. Sunlight spilled inside and lit up the simple table and the two chairs; there was not much else to see in there – which the sunlight probably appreciated since it had to make it past the tall, bulky figure blocking most of the doorway.

"Yo, cherries. Mornin'."

No mistaking that one. Jak smiled slightly, raising a hand in greeting.

"Mornin', Sig."

He yawned and the hand moved to scratch his bare chest instead. This turned out to be a bad idea as a popping sound came from his still un-cared-for shoulder, and he winced. Sig squinted at what his working eye made out as dusk, while the two people more used to the dim illumination had no problem whatsoever to see every last detail.

Especially scars. Daxter grimaced.

Sig debated asking if Jak was okay, but reached the conclusion that the answer would just be a yes. Even if golden boy was bleeding to death. The thought made the big man grin slightly with friendly pride.

Instead of asking about health, Sig settled for the original question he had in mind.

"You boys up for some action? Kleiver said his men saw something big moving in the ruins and wants somebody to check on it."

Jak smirked at Daxter's immediate "Nooo…" and completely disregarded the protest in favor of a nod.

"Yeah, sure…"

He tried rotating both his shoulders, getting another pop with a bonus cold flare for no extra charge.

Ow.

"Just give us twenty," he said, keeping the sigh out of his voice.

Sig gave a small mock salute, hefting the Peace Maker over his shoulder.

"I'll go prepare the Sand Shark. Don't chicken out on me."

At that, Jak just gave a dry chuckle. Grinning, Sig closed the door, increasing the dusk radically. The demolition duo heard his boots slamming against the stone stair as he left, listening in silence for a few moments.

Finally Jak stretched and laid down again, resting his forehead on his lower arms.

"Okay," he muttered.

With a slight cackle Daxter hopped back onto his pal and headed for the next victim.

"Ready or not, here we go!" he cheerfully said.

"You enjoy this far too- ow! Son of a-!"

The pillow was having a rough morning. But even that got to rest as Jak's tension gradually dissolved beneath Daxter's stubborn hands.

Kind, soft hands.

* * *

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Daxter.

I hate horror stories, 'cause I just can't shake them off afterwards. Yeah, yeah, go ahead and call me wimpy. Didn't y'all know I'm of the careful kind? Yup, that's right. I get enough action, gore and terror in my everyday life with Jak, thankyouverymuch.

Sooo my point is, I'm really not hot on hearing a real life horror story. But it's not just that I'm anxious of having to listen to Jak talking about what they did to him, not just that I won't be able to forget. It's… it's because I _could_'ve prevented some of it, a lot of it, if I had just been able to find him faster. Maybe even stopped Darkie from ever being born.

I don't… don't want to know how bad I failed.

The scariest thing really is not knowing, but the suspicions. Of course I can see the scars, and they tell me a lot more than I want to know. But there are those things I can't see, that nobody can… that Jak never will tell. Not when he's conscious, at least.

I know they beat him up, he looked like a freakin' patch doll of bruises when I first found him for chrissakes.

Mmf…

Yeah. Nasty stuff… ugh… I don't wanna think about it.

I don't wanna think about the rest either, 'cause… 'cause those bruises healed, of course, but I still remember them, a-and… and…

… and Jak never wants to talk about it and I totally respect that but there's a crapload of other stuff, y'know, stuff that doesn't show but never heals and Erol always said these really weird things and I'll never know if anything happened and how bad Jak hurts and what he hides but there's that bloody _suspicion _that it's much, much worse and I ran away, watching them drag him off- rargh!

Okay, I'm calm, I'm calm. Damn, that crap makes my blood pressure rise, hehe… heh.

Sigh.

I don't wanna think about it. But… I just ran away, and left him there. Let them take him to do precursors knows what. S-so I had to find him. Had to find him, and that was the only thing that kept me alive during those two years of hell. Don't call me an animal, peeps, I know how it's like to live as one. And they don't treat animals any better than people in Haven. Almost got made into a fur hat at least seven times. Ugh.

… yeah, trying to change the subject. Sorry.

I got a thousand leads that led nowhere, I tell you. And getting into the prison was no cakewalk either, no siree. Especially since I had almost given up at that point…

Ugh.

So I fo-found him. B-but it wasn't enough, 'cause they had hurt him so bad that he wasn't Jak anymore and I was so sure that he'd kill me when he flipped and Dark Jak came out for the first time bu-but then… then…

I… I never want to hear him talk like that again. Not the way he said my name when he snapped back to reality.

Now we'd spent our entire childhood together and of course I teased him and tried to coax him into talking to the point where he'd shove me into the grass and have me eat mud just to shut me up. I really thought it would rock if the first thing he ever said was my name. Think I told him that a few times, kinda… said that since I always put up with his cheating in wrestling and crazy zoomer driving he owed me that.

But I really, really wanted him to smile when he said it. Not like he did back there beside that torture device, stumbling backwards and staring at me like that. Not sounding as if he was about to break. Not in that place.

I-I don't really think that Praxis' death sentence was the first thing he ever said, but I don't know. He won't talk about that either. For all I know his first words could've been a plea for mercy.

So I… really screwed up. Well, it's not like I could've done anything when they grabbed him off the street – "Oh shit, it's an orange rat! Everyone retreat!". Yeah, imagine Erol saying that. Wish it sounded funnier to me.

But anyway, I just can't stop thinking that I could've found him faster, before they messed him up.

B-but I didn't. I couldn't. So… so I promised myself, and him, even though I never told him, that I'd make it okay again. I'd stick around and make sure he was okay no matter what happened, even if he went completely psycho and turned into that monster a hundred times over, I'd still be there.

And it was worth it, 'cause even though I was scared outta my mind at first, throwing stupid gags like "breaking stuff's fun, right!" at him while he was kicking guards in the face and sneaking up from behind to twist their necks… even though he never changed from "manic mode" until we got outside, even though he chewed out an old man with a kid (and about that, _holy crap_!) and turned into a monster again to beat up a dozen guards – then, then it got better. When he had walked away from Kor and the midget, and suddenly just stopped and looked like he was about to fall over… had to tell him to go lean on a wall, and he just did what I said like he couldn't do anything on his own. Guess the adrenaline had run out on him.

I got worried that he'd flip again of course, I just didn't know what to make of him right then. But he just stood there staring up at the sky above, ignoring all the odd looks he got from every other passerby. I… I guess he finally realized that he was free. For real.

No idea how long he stood there, and I didn't dare to say anything due to this really hot wish to not see tall, dark and gruesome again so soon, especially not since Jak said he couldn't control it.

Not cool.

He stood there for ages, it seemed, and then finally he just raised his hand and reached for the cloudy sky – through the smog, I might add – as if he wanted to make sure it was real. And when he did that, looking all spaced out, I just couldn't keep my yap shut any longer.

"Could be prettier, but hey, it works, right?"

That just got him looking at me, all blank. Like he hadn't noticed me before, and that was really damn creepy I tell you. Which only got me talking more, of course. What else could I do?

"Uh, uhm…"

Yeah, smooth talking! Don't gimme that look, I wasn't even sure if he heard me!

"It's gonna be okay now, Jak… okay?"

Now _that_ jolted him back into focus, for some reason. He really jumped and gave me this odd look, but I forgot that in the next moment 'cause he smiled.

He finally smiled.

If I was a girl, I'd go all "Awwww!" just thinking about it.

"Dax…"

Yup. This time he said it like I had wanted it.

"… thanks."

And that made it all worthwhile. 'Cause, they hadn't managed to totally kill my Jak after all. So then it was my job to make sure he stayed alive, to make him smile even as things got darker and dirtier by the hour.

And no matter how many mad skills he got with his gun and Darkie, and no matter how many metal heads and Krimzon Klutzes came at us I'd still hang on to his shoulder and never let go.

So… I lied back there in the desert, when me an' Pecker-flap argued. I was the one who wanted to go and help Jak, and I would've gone with or without the birdbrain. 'Cause I need to stay with Jak and make sure he's okay.

I'm gonna make sure that nobody ever knocks him out and drags him off again, even if I hafta scratch somebody's eyes out to stop them. Nobody's ever gonna get another chance to hurt Jak like that if I can do anything about it. And sheez, okay, fine, I'd probably get squished in the process, but even that's better than doin' nothing. So bring it on, world! Bring all the sand, sun, metal heads, crazy zealots, politicians, morons and cyborgs, and I'll help him deal with 'em 'cause I'm never gonna let anybody take him away again.


	5. Sympathy of the demon

_Author's note: _I'm aaalive! And big thanks to all the people who reviewed. Here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4, The Dark One

* * *

'

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Daxter.

'

You wanna know something hot that isn't cool? The freakin' desert.

You can turn this world inside out and you won't find a sandier, hotter place o' living hell anywhere… I hope. That would be freaky beyond belief.

And the inhabitants ain't any better either. Between the metal heads, giant lizards-slash-snakes-slash-insects-slash-unspeakables, marauders and Dark Maker freaks it's a wonder me an' Jak even get a chance to sleep around here. You know what, slap the storms into that group of inhabitants. They're so bad they just gotta be sentient.

I'm not even gonna mention how much Jak grins at the thought of dealing with all of them. At the same time. Armed with a toothpick.

And he'd probably win, too.

People don't give 'im enough credit. He's a freakin' juggernaught on legs, and all him and me ever hear is "go there, do that, what took you so long" bitchbitchbitch. Okay, not as much as we used to when we worked on making Praxis' lose his much needed beauty sleep a year ago, but still. Even though Sir Dreadalocks looked like he'd cream his pants in relief of seeing Jak entering _my_ bar when we finally got back into Haven… well, the best we got were a "Jak's back!" and a "Knew I could count on you" from Ashe'. Gotta love 'em. It's all "Yay, our secret weapon is back, let's celebrate by dropping him into the sewers!". People, people, people. _Erol_ lets us know that he's ecstatic about seeing us again, for cripes' sake. Angry screams and metal heads and armies of KG bots… oh yeah. He's riled up alright. Lucky us.

The rest of you? Bow down and lick Jak's boots. I'm waaaiting. After all he's done for you, the best you can do is throw him a weapon upgrade and admit that he's "the man" after how many suicide missions? Pff.

Oh god, had a Brutter flashback there. That's a hoot. The only one who ever showered us with gratitude was a frickin' lurker. Speaking of which, I wonder whatever happened to him… haven't seen that lug since they rounded up the last lurker slave and headed out of Haven to rebuild their colonies. Bet they're doing better than us up here though. Meh. Bunch of turncoats…

Where was I? Oh yeah, appreciation of the Jak.

Just can't believe that they let him leave with a few "we're sorry" and "good work" with a coupl'a gun upgrades on top. Okay, he loves his toys as much as the other evil-masher, but sheez. They think that's gonna patch up all the nicks he's gotten? He's still pissed, dammit! It's more for his own sake than the people right now, just like when he went joining every fracture of resistance against Praxis to make sure he wouldn't miss a chance to piss the big bully off.

Jak wouldn't admit it but I know he wanted to get back to Spargus after a while. Only reason he kept up with ol' Haven was that he knew they needed him, and Veger an' Tinman Erol were out there somewhere. Blondie's a real good guy, really. Too good to not be told so. Ashelin and Keira wouldn't die if they'd fawn about him now and then, now would they? A guy needs to know people got the hots for him. He needs a Tess. Tesses are _good_.

Uhm… except when they talk about pink houses. Brrr.

Well hey, not saying I'm not taking care of Jak, but don't ya ever think he'd like to get a backrub or something from somebody more, ah, life-sized? Hey, hey, I'm a man too! And my pal, who's very much a man as well, hasn't gotten as much as a proper cuddle since him and Keira drifted apart. Can't be healthy, I tell you. No wonder he beats so much crap up.

Okay, "getting Jak a girlfriend" moves up a few notches on The List. I don't care how relieved he seems to be to be back in Rock Village 2000, we gotta get him a hug. Gotta get me somebody who can help me help him relax.

But that better be somebody who knows him well enough to see all those little flinches and twitches and smiles that _so very many_ seem to just ignore, and I'm looking at you, dreadlocked and green peeps.

This might pose a problem. Gonna have to think about it for a while… especially now that we're in the wasteland again. Wohoo.

Y'know, _I_ do have some issues with Spargus being "better" than Haven. There're no sweet little women, it's hot, populated with brutes… half of which Jak is at constant glare-war with. Yipyip. Nooo, he hasn't made any trouble in Spargus, but there are a lot of sour grapes who recall him from Haven and being on his bad "suspect on foot!" side. Why the heck do so many peeps here have to be ex-guards?

What, you thought Damas would throw people out just 'cause they worked for Praxis once upon a time in Haven? Kingy would lose half his population. At least. 'Sides, most of 'em are probably here because they managed to piss Praxis off at some point, so those guys can't be all that bad… I guess.

The rest of them?

… because they pissed Ashelin and the council off after Praxis kicked the bucket. They… kinda make me a wee bit nervous.

Ahem.

Oh yeah. Damas.

Now I like the big man for picking us up from the big hole o' sand he calls a kingdom. Really, that was nice of him. Introduction scenes and diplomacy though? The guy's got a lot to learn there.

But Jak… oi. The two of them sure had their clashes but… ya know, I really think that if Damas said "Jak, I need you to cut off your left arm", blond boy'd have the knife halfway through the bone before he got around asking why, and the arm would be on the floor before Damas could cough up an explanation. After that "you're one of my finest warriors" speech, well… hehe. You could've gotten high just being near Jak after that. I almost saw pink lurkers, just 'cause he was just oozing… content. Perfectly, people. Perfectly, amazingly, mindnumbingly content. Oh yeah.

It was beautiful.

Sooo, taking that into account… I guess I can deal with Spargus, sand, thugs and all. If anything can make Jak smile like that, I can even deal with the metal heads. I suppose. And it's not like Haven is high on my list of things held in the ol' high regard, not after those bootlickers gave me an' Jak the boot instead of a fruit basket for saving their sorry asses.

Okay, so putting up the pluses and minuses on the chalkboard… let's just come to a conclusion of this ramble, shall we? Hold on tight 'cause here it comes:

Up yours, Haven, let the master show you how it's done. Damas and his kingdom rules.

But he'll need a torture chamber to get that much outta me.

'

End Introspection.

'

* * *

The sand swept past beneath the massive wheels of the Sand Shark, being ripped into a cloud behind the vehicle. A landscape once unfamiliar and hostile surrounded the two men and the ottsel, continuing to spread out in front of them – still a dangerous place, but no longer alien and threatening. Well, not within itself, at least.

With the sun still not too far from the horizon, the real heat had not yet begun tearing at the day either. It was still bearable.

The mission was simple enough; find the big bugger that the lizard catchers spotted and deal with it. Those warriors had already tried getting a decent shot at it of course, but the metal head had disappeared in the night.

Bleedin' weird behavior for a metal head, as Kleiver so eloquently had put it according to Sig. Probably a big mama.

This remained the subject for the dialogue in the Shark.

"We're walking straight into a trap, I tell you!" Daxter proclaimed.

Again.

Sig rolled his eye, giving up the "Ignore" tactic.

"Metal heads don't do traps," he said. "Nothin' past digging themselves into the ground."

"Metal heads don't have mommies either. They have an army of nannies, as far as we've seen. Right, Jak?"

A mere nod. Jak kept focusing on his driving.

"Yeah, yeah," Sig had to agree, waving his hand at the sky. "Just like wumpbees, th- whoa!"

Daxter's claws alone managed to keep him stuck behind Jak's shoulder, though there was an unpleasant sound of claws against metal. Blinking in surprise Sig straightened up and rubbed his forehead, even though he had avoided smashing it into the Shark's frame.

"Rock."

Jak answered before the question had even made it into the air. And he hardly moved his lips, either.

"Rock?" Sig repeated.

"Rock."

"Rock," Daxter agreed, nodding.

Sig turned his head, looking at the cloud of dust and sand behind them. He could not remember there being a rock that big around here…

After a bit of pondering he mentally shrugged the whole thing off. If Jak said rock, there had to be a rock. It wasn't as if someone like golden boy would jump on his seat or something bad enough to tear at the wheel that much.

While this kind of confusion did manage to create a pause, it was very brief. The limited view did pose a problem, but Daxter tilted his body until he at least could have a peek at Jak's face. Seeing that the height of paleness was beneath the danger zone, the ottsel did just what he would have done even if there had been more severe warning signs.

He launched into another rant, barely giving Sig time to reach his conclusion about the rock issue.

"As I said before the commercial break, metal heads don't do the whole parenting thing! Their idea of family life consists of a buck load of babysitters and more eggplants than you want to shake an eco poisoned stick at."

Sig grunted, wondering if Jak would be angry if Daxter's mouth suddenly found itself filled with cacti. It was with relief that the veteran wastelander looked ahead, towards the skeletal remains of a city growing closer by the horizon. Only a little while longer, and there would be the peace and quiet of metal head hunting.

"Might've been gatherin' snacks for the small buggers then," he said, just to shut Daxter up.

It was instinctual, how he answered. And he always wondered, in retrospect, why he never learnt to just use the silent treatment. Because that "shut up" idea never worked – quite the opposite.

But if he was perfectly honest, Sig knew that he kept trying because just listening to Daxter for an hour on end would drive him into a homicidal rage that might not be appreciated by the other residents of Spargus. At least not if he did it inside their walls.

Man, Jak really had to be the proud owner of the steeliest mind in history. Who'd think such a hotshot would be patient enough to deal with somebody like that blabbering pet? Or maybe he had learnt how to turn his eardrums inside out.

It had to be something extraordinary.

All these thoughts almost kept Sig occupied enough to block out Daxter's further ranting about metal heads' way of life.

But when a mere half mile remained to the first worn walls of the ruins, Jak made a small motion of his head – not quite looking around, the blue and black just flashed by in the corners of his eyes before he returned to the area ahead.

Daxter shut up in mid-sentence, shifting his weight on Jak's shoulder. And Sig's lips twitched in relief.

The taller wastelander never bothered to ask, he just assumed that the blonde did not want to be disturbed in case there were vital sounds that needed to be heard. It was the logical conclusion.

Daxter thought about a warning.

The white walls rose up before them, shortly surrounding them completely. Every now and again there was a flash of grey-green between the buildings, wild leaper lizards fleeing from the intruding sound of an engine. Daxter caught himself with twitching hands – catching those things were starting to grow on him. Badly. Grimacing, he clenched his fists.

Jak continued to steer, following Sig's hand motions to the middle of the dead town. And of course, when the blonde finally stopped it had to be with half a spin, sending the Shark sliding up beside the empty lizard cage.

The two men exchanged half-smirks. Daxter, meanwhile, climbed back onto Jak's shoulder while muttering to himself in a hushed whisper.

"Okay, cherries," Sig said, waving vaguely rightwards towards the northwestern side of the town, "Kleiver said they saw the big'un in that direction, but it slipped off the hook."

He reached back for his Peace Maker and leant it against the frame of the vehicle, ready to fire. While he did so, Jak unhooked the flask from his belt and took a few deep, quick gulps. Returning his gaze to the town ahead of them, he moved the flask to the side of his head and held it lightly so that Daxter could drink from it.

Sig made a thumbs up as the flask returned to its original place.

"Keep your eyes open."

Jak gave a quick nod in reply and stomped down on the gas pedal almost before he had changed the clutch to a proper setting.

And for the life of him, Daxter just could not figure out what there was to grin so much about. Then again he was really too busy trying to remain safely on Jak's shoulder, to think properly.

Leaving a brand new cloud of sand behind, the Sand Shark took off in the direction Sig had given.

It became a short trip, passing only a couple of corners before they spotted their first clue – a splatter of red taking up a considerable area on a white wall. The color was on the sand as well, but darker since it already had dried among the hot grains.

The engine's roar fell into a low growl, and in the relative silence three pairs of ears sought to catch any other sound. When there seemed to be nothing, Jak and Sig exchanged glances.

Without a word Jak turned the ignition off and reached up to grab onto the bare pipe frame of the Shark. He swung himself out of the vehicle and onto the ground, Daxter clutching the shoulder guard beneath him.

The morph gun was in Jak's hands almost before his feet hit the sand, obediently folding itself out into scatter gun mode.

He headed closer to the wall, keeping all senses open for anything suspicious.

A good portion of the blood was still wet. Looking down at the ground Jak noted familiar footprints, ending just before the crimson in a chaotic pattern in the sand. From it, a wider trail went off, along the wall. There was more blood there, but it had been mixed with the sand – something bleeding had been dragged off.

There was enough evidence to reach a certain conclusion.

"Leaper lizard," Jak said over his shoulder.

Sig frowned and looked around. While he did that, Jak ran his gaze along the trail in the sand. Beside the shallow holes left by the lizard, there were several thin, smooth lines that randomly zigzagged across the bigger trace.

"And some small metal heads," Jak added, with his gun pointing in the direction of the larger trail.

"Shit," Sig grunted.

He stood up on the Shark's floor, trying to get a better overview. Jak headed back to the vehicle and climbed into the driver's seat, but he left the morph gun on his own lap as a safety measure. Sig sat back down and they took off again.

For once Jak drove rather carefully, keeping his eyes on the trail. But they did not get far like that – just after rounding the corner the clues disappeared in an alley far too narrow for the Shark. Jak hit the brakes again, eyes narrowing in irritation. But Sig was on the ground before the blonde could speak.

"I'll check it out," the veteran wastelander said.

He ignored Daxter's mute impression of "dying of shock". It involved a lot of wide eyes, tongue hanging out, grabbing chest, and falling over – straight onto Jak's idly held up hand, in fact.

Jak merely nodded at Sig and turned the engine off again while his partner climbed back to his shoulder. A moment later the morph gun whizzed and changed once more, the yellow shine of the blaster mod reflected in the eco ring fastened over Jak's chest.

As Sig cautiously stepped up towards the alley entrance the blonde shifted on his seat, preparing to fire at anything that might try to make it out of the alley.

The hot sand whispered beneath Sig's massive boots as he walked, holding his weapon ready for attackers. He stopped beside the entrance, shielded by the wall for the few moments that he merely listened. Eventually he threw a glance backwards, catching Jak's eye.

A final nod, and he went in.

The soft crunch of the steps grew muffled behind the wall, but still managed to hang just within earshot. Sig moved real slow, especially for being him.

Controlled, shallow breathing hardly moved Daxter's perch at all. He glanced at Jak, seeing the intense blue of his eyes straining between the slits of his eyelids. The grip on the gun seemed easy, hands knowing they did not have to clench as hard as they used to when the weapon was a novelty. Man, how long ago was that?

The steps continued. From the sound of it, there seemed to be a few walls left within the broken building, Sig moving between them carefully.

A drop of sweat began to form from the glistening moistness on Jak's forehead, a shimmer sluggishly slipping towards his eye. Daxter reached out and swept it away with his small hand, shaking the water off carelessly a moment later. Holding on to the smooth leather of his pal's goggles he tipped forwards, dropping his head sideways to grin straight into a big eye. A split second only, he wiped another drop away and swung back to where he would not be in the way. The brief glance he got was enough of a thanks.

Steps.

They waited.

Daxter was just about to reach out for another irritating assembly of sweat, when the first shot rung through the air. Immediately the ottsel snapped back, grabbing hold of the shoulder guard beneath him. Jak tensed, a foot ramming into the floor of the Shark.

"Get ready!"

The shout was hardly finished before a black body shot onto the top of the wall, fangs glistening with saliva and the egg shaped crystal set in its forehead sharply reflecting the sun. Sig snarled in the background, the sound of gunfire never ceasing.

The beast leapt forwards, long body stretched out against the blue sky.

One shot was all it took. With a shriek the serpentine metal head was flung in the other direction, the skull gem falling out and landing in the sand a second before the body did.

Thump.

Daxter hissed, batting at a long ear with his hand and Jak flung himself forwards out of the Shark, landing in the sand. He rolled onto his feet and looked back just in time to see a dozen claws descending into the driver's seat, passing through empty air where his back would have been. Screeching in fury, the new metal head struggled to tear itself free.

Jak shot forwards, the butt of the gun smashing into the monster's face to the sound of tearing cloth. The dying metal head crashed into the passenger seat and bounced, gracelessly rolling onto the ground on the other side of the Shark. A thump, then silence.

Heavy steps approached quickly from the ruined building behind them, but a hissing caused Jak to spin around. From the ground by his feet and from beneath the Shark black bodies exploded and he leapt backwards, swinging the gun at the first one to attack. Two smashes followed each other as the beast was hit and crashed into the massive wheel. It snarled, clumsily rolling over to try again.

The others skittered back and forth, preparing for an assault. Jak stepped back, aiming at the bigger group. Red light fluttered over slick black skin and he pulled the trigger. One of the stingers screeched, its violent throes of pain forcing the others to scatter not to be hit. Never hesitating Jak took aim for another one while they were confused-

A sound from behind and he ducked, cursing as a flash of black flared past his ear.

"Ah!"

His head snapped up at the scream, eyes shooting wide open at the sight of orange against darkness. Tiny hands stretched out beneath the metal head that had knocked the ottsel away from his safe shoulder, fumbling at empty air trying to stop his fall.

The stingers reared up like one single being, beady eyes set on the scrawny body flung towards them.

"Daxter!"

Jak dashed, the gun falling from his hand.

A flash of light burnt Daxter's eyes and he blinked. The darkness above him was gone when his eyelids rose again – all he heard was the smack, a shining fist flitting in and out of his sight so quickly that he hardly could register it. A metal head shrieked.

He hit the sand, instinctively rolling into a ball.

The morph gun landed on the ground a little ways away, the sound making him peek upwards.

The light shattered in a feral snarl, the hands that slammed into the ground changing color in a flare of dark lightning. Claws sprouted from the fingers, digging into the sand in anticipation of black flesh.

Screeching, the stingers attacked.

Daxter sharply gasped as a big hand ripped him from the ground, dagger-like claws clashing against each others as the fingers bent. Jak's roar tore at his ears and the world around him spun, the only stable point the massive chest he was pressed to. He fumbled for support – grabbed a thumb in a sickly shade of pale purple. In the corner of his eye the other huge hand cleaved the air.

Dark lightning stormed from the free hand, sending the metal heads flying, twisting in pain as they went. Crashing in the sand they kept writhing until Jak's boot crushed their faces, black blood spilling across the ground. He ignored them after they stopped screeching, throwing himself into their midst when the remaining ones tried to regroup.

It was over within a minute.

Daxter looked up as Jak stopped moving, seeing only the pale goatee and flashes of the face as the head snapped back and forth, nostrils flaring in the search for more attackers. Heavy breaths moved the elf's entire form, but he stood still.

Nothing.

There was only the desert wind.

Finally it seemed like Jak gave up searching, and Daxter let out a sigh of relief as the rough grip of his body loosened a little. In the next moment he blinked, pulled away from the chest. The fingers relaxed, leaning him backwards.

Claws clashed again, from both hands this time as the big palms met side by side. Daxter kept gazing up at the face of the demon who held him, trying to force his hands to stay unclenched and ears from pressing down against his small skull.

The eyes watched him, narrowed – two pools of pitch black darkness with only the tiniest reflection of the intense sunlight.

Even as the face came closer, fangs showing in a tiny sliver between the lips, Daxter sat still.

He would not believe that this was Jak, not this bloodthirsty berserker.

But he would not show fear either, would not, would _not_… for that tiny, frightening possibility that… that it was Jak after all. And Jak might remember, he never said that he did but-

The head moved, twitching back and forth in small motions. In his dazed state it took Daxter a moment to realize that he was being surveyed.

That the "demon" was checking him for any sign of damage.

Like Jak would do.

A mad thought wondered for a second what would happen if there had been any little wound. Somehow, Daxter had a creeping suspicion that such a thing might have involved that sharp tongue hidden behind the fangs. Hard not to think of Jak as an animal in this form, whether the ottsel wanted to or not.

_Eek_.

He pushed the thoughts away – with a lot of force there, might be added – and wrestled the shadow of a smile onto his lips as he raised a small hand. The black eyes at least _seemed_ to turn towards the O formed by thumb and pointing finger.

"This ottsel be a-okay, Darkie-"

Another sound and the attempt to calm Jak down went askew as he spun around, a new growl exploding from his chest.

Sig stood by the entrance between the buildings. He glared back at the demon, never recoiling, though he did hold his gun ready to block an attack. There was a brief silence, the only sound the hissing as the flesh of the last metal head melted into a lump of half gaseous dark eco. The heavy, purplish clouds hung above the sad remains of the beasts, lurching back and forth as the wind pushed at them.

Finally Sig spoke.

"Chill or it's the rolled up paper for you, cherry."

The words hung in the air for a moment. Then Jak snorted and straightened up slightly, still holding Daxter defensively in his grip. An attempt from the ottsel to get up and climb to his usual perch was hindered by a thumb pressing him back down. Blue eyes nervously gazed up at the black ones.

"Uh, I'm okay, Dee-Jay," Daxter said, holding up a pointing finger. "You can relax, really-"

A snarl, and the dark head started turning back and forth again. The ears moved, spreading and pressing themselves against the skull to the turns of Jak's neck. Sig frowned, gazing about. He could not hear anything, but with the way Jak acted he could not be sure. After a moment he motioned at the ruined building behind him with his thumb.

"There were enough tracks in there to land us an army of critters," he said.

His gaze went between the snarling creature and the ottsel in its grip, not entirely certain if either was in any state to listen to him. As he stepped forwards however, the dark eyes turned to him. Sig glared back.

"You watch my back, cherry," he said. "We're gonna need a bigger team for this one. And no funny business or I'll knock you across the desert."

Another snort, but Jak set Daxter on his shoulder and nodded slightly.

He understood.

Daxter crouched, unsure how to handle this one. It had been ages since he had seen Jak pissed enough to be unable to revert into himself when there were no more enemies in sight. While Sig took out his communicator and started dialing, the ottsel carefully reached out and dug a small hand into the gray hair.

If Jak even felt the push against his skull, he did not react to it. Daxter frowned but did not press on any harder, just rolled his palm in slow circles, listening to the soft rustle of the hair.

It took Sig a while to finish, since he was holding the communicator in one hand and his gun in the one he used for hitting the buttons. Eventually however the speakers crackled to life.

"Yea'?" came Kleiver's gruff voice, "what d'ye want, Sig?"

It did not sound much better over the hissing line.

"The big bugger left a present, this place is overrun by stingers," Sig said, motioning over his shoulder. "An' they've been chomping on the leaper lizards."

A growl erupted from the speakers, but Kleiver's mutterings suddenly grew distant as somebody on his side took the communicator from his hand. A new voice broke through, one with a slighter higher pitch but far more commanding.

"How many?"

Daxter noticed the twitch of Jak's ears at the sound of the two brief words, and the ottsel had to beat back an amused grin as the black eyes seemed to turn towards the communicator. Sig straightened up a little bit more, too – as if that would be visible to the face displayed on the screen in his hand.

"I found tracks of at least thirty, your lordship," Sig said, "and we killed about-"

He glanced up for a moment, counting the lumps of dark eco floating above the sand, adding them to his own successful hits inside the ruins.

"… ten. There're probably more of them little bastards though."

"And the lizards?" Damas asked.

"Remains of two."

A pause, then a distant shout surrounded by static. From the tone of it Damas was barking commands at Kleiver and anybody else standing within sight, but the words did not quite make it through the communicator.

After a few moments Damas returned his focus to the two men and the ottsel.

"I'll send a bigger team to the ruins," he said. "Are any of you wounded?"

The question was simple, yet the tone was slightly beneath neutral. Not condescending, but rather making it clear that the one who asked really doubted that he would receive a worrying reply. And precursors protect anyone who let him down.

Oi.

Jak snorted, a smirk tugging at his lips.

As if.

Sig did not notice the cocky expression of the dark one, only shook his head.

"No, your lordship. Although Jak ain't in a talking mood right now."

He turned the communicator over, towards the destruction duo. The camera could not possibly catch much that was beyond three feet away, but Damas could at least see a purple-grey blur with an orange smudge on the right side.

With a grunt, Jak waved his hand. He probably meant as a greeting, but it was a little hard to tell since it was more like a slow lash out. It might have been about as much as the dark eco would permit. Of course, Damas only saw some kind of movement of the haze.

The thin lips belonging to the King of Spargus twitched.

"I see. Carry on."

Another grunt, sounding mildly approving. Daxter straightened up, waving both hands enthusiastically and with his tongue hanging out – safe in the knowledge of the camera's reach. Even though the ottsel still remained oddly silent, Sig quickly turned the communicator back towards himself to be on the safe side. During that, Daxter ducked as a set of pale knuckles swiped at the air a few inches away from him. The motion was slow though, and the claws aimed in another direction. Jak did not even look at Daxter as the little one crawled back onto the shoulder guard – pale head turning back and forth suspiciously.

"Should we hang around here until the backup rolls in?" Sig asked the metallic box in his hand.

He threw a glance ahead, frowning as he saw that Jak had returned to acting as if he heard something. The wind continued to howl, nothing else – until Damas' voice called on Sig's attention again.

"No," the king said, "you three deal with the task you were given. Kill any metal heads you see, but don't get sidetracked."

"Yes, your lordship. Over an' out."

Sig turned off the communicator, hefting the folding form back onto his belt. He then took the Peace Maker in both hands and glanced around. Even though Jak's fingers still twitched, claws clattering against each other, he seemed a little more relaxed now. The head turned with slower motions, shoulders not held quite so high anymore.

"Think you can relax enough to-" Sig started.

A screech cut him off. Both men spun around just in time to see five stingers leap up from the ground on the other side of the Shark, two of them tearing through the air above the seats.

Snarling, Jak leapt. He lashed out and sent the closest beast flying backwards in a high arc, its face sliced open so badly that it hardly could shriek in pain. The other one crashed on the ground and skittered around, avoiding the explosion of sand from a bullet missing its mark. Sig cursed and took aim again while Jak spun around, fangs bared in rage.

Metal clanged and screeched, claws drawing bolts of tearing sounds across steel. Sig missed his second shot too as he spun at the sound, seeing the other three stingers crawling all over the Shark, tearing and biting at everything they could reach.

They were trying to destroy the vehicle.

"Shit!"

Sig dashed, swinging his Peace Maker as a club. A smash and a serpentine body crashed in the sand, away from the control board. The other two turned and hissed, leaping forwards – Sig threw up his arm, blocking the attack with his armor made out of skulls of the beasts own brethren. Fangs like metal nails dug into the hard bone and he stumbled backwards, flinging out his arm to keep the furiously sweeping tails away from him. The two long needles at the end of the tails blindly swung, seeking for any weak spot to hit. With a curse Sig rammed his arm against the Shark's wheel.

The first smash dazed the two cretins for long enough to let him draw back for a harder hit, and this time one of them let go, slipping onto the ground. He recoiled from it in case it was still alive, not having time to check closer – the other one still moved and he focused on trying to break its skull.

A hiss from below caught his attention in the middle of his new attack and he stumbled back with a snarl, seeing the moving blackness by his feet. The other one _was_ still alive, and he was off balance.

The dazed stinger shook, dizzy but prepared to attack anyway. And it probably would have, if it had not been for the black claws slicing it clean in half just as it pulled back to leap. Sig almost grinned, but finished off his own little problem first. The last metal head fell, the wastelander stepping back to avoid the dark eco slipping out of its remains.

Then he looked at Jak.

Two dying metal heads hung by their tails in his left hand, pathetically writhing as the last of their lives ebbed. Their skin and flesh evaporated, bones and skull gems falling to the ground while the dark eco flowed into Jak's hand, tendrils of dark lightning crawling like tiny worms up his arm until they faded away. Daxter crouched during this process, quickly stepping as far away as possible when the eco threads crept too close.

It was gone.

Nothing moved, only the wind that never rested. Silence settled, the men and ottsel waiting to see if anything else would dare to challenge them. Moments passed.

Nothing.

Jak swayed. Clutching his head he bent over, groaning and trembling as the horns and claws grew backwards, skin and hair reverting into more natural colors. A hand lashed out, grabbing the Shark's wheel for support. He kept swaying, head bowed low as if he felt sick. Daxter nudged his pal's head worriedly, increasing the push as nothing happened.

Frowning, Sig stepped forwards.

"You okay there, cherry?" he asked, reaching out.

Jak straightened up before the big hand got close enough to touch him, fumbling for the water flask by his side.

"Fine… fine-" he croaked.

Sweat pearled down his forehead, and Sig scowled deeper. Daxter too frowned, folding his arms over his chest while glaring at Jak.

The blonde ignored them both, almost biting off the cork of the flask as he tore it out with his teeth. He spat out the stopper and took a deep drought of water, turning his face upwards and by the look of it just pouring the liquid straight into his throat.

"You're crazy, fighting like that in this heat," Sig said, narrowing his eye.

Jak bent forwards and removed the flask from his lips with a hoarse sigh of relief, then glared up at Sig.

"I didn't hear you protest," he said.

They exchanged irritated looks for a moment until Sig finally sighed and shrugged. He reached out and lightly rapped his knuckles against the hot leather of Jak's goggles, the glare changing into a tired smirk.

He did not see the flinch.

Daxter did.

"Just don't lemme catch you pulling crap like that again, ya hear?" Sig said, stern but no longer angry.

"Heh…"

Jak managed an exhausted hint of a grin. He raised the flask again, offering it to Daxter while Sig turned to look at the Shark.

"Well, they had the heart but lacked the brains," the senior wastelander said.

He pointed with some amusement at the bite marks on the Shark's pipe frame. It seemed that the stingers were short on knowledge of what was good to attack when breaking down a means of transport. Sig poked at the torn seat, concluding that it was still fit to sit on. He looked around, taking note of Jak's heavy eyelids and labored breathing.

"Want me to drive for a while, cherry?"

Jak started to shake his head, but that was apparently a bit more than he could handle for the moment. Groaning he pinched his eyes shut and pressed his free hand against his eyes. Daxter leant forwards, worriedly pressing a hand to a throbbing temple.

Sig did not have to say "that's what you get…", it was understood. And he knew better than to say it, either way.

Admitting a temporary defeat Jak collected his morph gun and climbed onto the passenger seat, still holding the flask in one hand and taking frequent sips while Sig steered them through the ruins. At the first given possibility Daxter slid onto his friend's lap, unwilling to be an extra weight on a sagging shoulder. Jak gazed down at him and he made thumbs up, giving the normal side the same kind of reassuring facts as the he had tried giving the dark.

Jak shook his head lightly, rolling his eyes. He thought it had been stupid of him.

Daxter grinned, tilting his head in agreement – yeah, it was stupid. Shouldn't a wastelander like yourself know better, eh?

There was a pause, Jak squaring his jaw.

Then Daxter's grin softened, silently saying thanks for getting his hide saved from being chewed on by half a dozen beasties.

After a moment Jak smiled too.

Sig glanced at them, unable to understand the exchange. Yet it was so obvious that there was _some_ kind of communication that he not possibly could miss it.

He wondered, dreaming for a fleeting moment of the possibility that Daxter might keep his trap shut for a long time to come. But he knew it would not last of course, sighing silently. Ah well. Just the weird fact that Daxter for once _was_ silent was a blessing in itself.

He could not know what went on in the ottsel's head as the fuzzy little body curled up on Jak's lap, making himself as comfortable as possible despite the bumpy ride. The silence lasted and though Daxter found it aggravating to constantly bite his tongue, there was a memory that was stronger.

_A heavy body crashing on the bottom level of a bunk bed, on a mattress just slightly softer than stone. Dreads'n'Knives'r'Us moving about in the background, muttering orders into his communicator every now and then. Still not used enough to that sound to completely drown it out. It doesn't matter, only important thing is being back, together. Small body able to curl up to sleep above a big shoulder just like two years ago – safe._

_"Daxter?"_

_Voice hoarse, tired. Still determined._

_Yawn. Doesn't really want to talk, want to sleep. Sleep right there, in Jak's warmth and the familiar smell persisting through the metallic tint of dark eco. _

_"Yeah?"_

_Mutter. Already know tattooed wonder well enough to know he'll love a reason to snarl, keeping voices down. Don't feel like arguing._

_"From now on, don't talk when there are enemies about, okay?"_

_Blink._

_"Huh?"_

_Big hand lands on small back, protective._

_"Don't let Praxis know you're intelligent."_

_"… oh."_

_Pause._

_"Well, you owe me an ass-saving but I see where you're coming from. Now shut up and sleep, jail breaking and stealing flags is exhausting."_

_Snort. But he's only almost-smiling for a moment._

"There we are!"

Sig's voice brought Daxter back to reality and he sat bolt straight up, bouncing onto Jak's shoulder without thinking. But there was no protest, Jak only straightening up to see better ahead of them.

A broad trail crawled out between two buildings and headed down the main road of the ruined city, disappearing into the dunes ahead. The sand had been shoveled up in the middle of the trail, a smooth trench surrounded by thousands of ragged holes as big as a man's fist. The shadow from the mountain range reaching up beside and beyond the ruins made it easier to see the marks.

They were quite easy to read.

"Metal-pede," Jak grunted, squinting towards the dune over which the trail tumbled out of sight.

Sig's lips tightened slightly, but he pushed down the gas pedal and they took off along the tracks.

The trail zigzagged across the dunes, but seemed to follow a rather straight route towards the end of the mountain range. For a job in the wasteland it suddenly seemed like an easy task, at least at this point. The two warriors paused only at one time, changing seats as soon as Jak felt ready to drive again.

With the new setting they continued, following the trail as it crawled up a slope in the mountains. At the end of the path was a huge hole in the cliff. Jak hit the brakes, narrowing his eyes at the opening.

"Not natural," he said, raising his hand to move it in a circle.

Sig nodded, frowning. The entrance was too round, the metal heads must have carved it open themselves.

Metal heads came in two flavors, really – stupid bastards and clever bastards. Stupid included stingers, seeing how they had attacked the Shark. But metal-pedes were normally not included in "clever bastards", which would be the ones intelligent enough to open up extra entrances. And they definitely were not smart enough to bring a bunch of babies between one place to another.

The evidence pointed to a variety of them working together.

Wonderful. A new hive. Sig stood up, checking the ground around the hole. Rocks and pebbles laid strewn over the ground, having laid there for long enough to be at least partly covered by the drifting sand. It could not be too new, then.

He sat back down and motioned ahead with his hand, silently agreeing that they should press on.

Daxter dove for cover behind Jak's shoulder guard, peeking up most cautiously as they entered the darkness.

They did not get too far away from the sunlight. The Shark's headlights shed two pools of light onto the ground before them – two pools that suddenly disappeared into complete obscurity. Jak rammed the brake pedal into the floor, sending all three of them in the car lurching forwards. Luckily he had not been driving too fast, so they got away with just a grunt each.

The relief only held on for a moment before surprise and growing irritation took over.

A chasm spread out before them, engulfing the glow of the headlights. Frowning, Jak flipped the switch to turn the lamps to the left and right, catching only solid wall on their sides. And a couple of yards away in front of them, the other side of the gorge.

He snarled, and so did Sig. Even Daxter let out a sigh of exasperation. So close and still so far…

"We're gonna need the Hopper to make it inside this place," Jak concluded.

All three of them glared at the chasm. It silently glared back. And probably smirked, too.

What a wonderful waste of time this trip had turned out to be. Getting back to Spargus would take another three hours; finishing this today was not to be thought of.

Jak was about to start backing outside when Daxter leant forwards past the bigger head and gazed at the blackness in front of them, then looked around quickly. No evil little critter in sight.

He turned and looked at the other passenger.

"Mm-hm, metalpedes and big holes," the ottsel said, grinning. "Some bad experiences there I'd say. Wanna hold my hand, Sig?"

A small hand reached out, fingers wiggling.

Jak had half a mind to try blocking Sig's glare, in case this would be the first look to actually kill. The possibility did not seem too farfetched.

But instead he just shook his head and trampled on the gas pedal, the Shark ripping backwards into the blasting sunlight. As he turned the vehicle towards the horizon holding the distant Spargus, Jak took one hand from the wheel to rub his temple.

"I think I'll need a drink after this," Daxter said, glancing at his pal.

Jak gave a small nod in agreement, while Sig grunted something that sounded somewhat approving.

The trip back to Spargus would have been silent if it had not been for Daxter. Even with the irritation filling the Shark, he just would not keep his mouth shut. As usual.

After a while Sig just zoned it out, glaring at the desert and grunting every now and then to avoid imploring questions like "hey, are you listening?". He threw a glance towards Jak every other minute, shaking his head to himself at seeing the kid's lips twitch at the babble.

Those twitches were the only thing keeping a huge fist from rising and smashing down on a highly irritating, fuzzy body. The familiar walls of the desert city were truly a blessed sight.

The gates began to open as they drew nearer, precursor technology sensing the approach of the two gate passes owned by the wastelanders.

Finally inside, Sig allowed himself a sigh of relief. But a silent one.

The fun was not yet over with, and they all knew it.

Jak hardly had time to park before a huge shadow lumbered into sight, complete with a none-too-pleasant expression. Before anybody else spotted it, Daxter was standing up and waving at the incoming storm cloud.

The big, friendly grin plastered onto the fuzzy mug did in no way make any other expression any softer. On the other hand, that was never in the plan either.

"Oh hey, Big K!" Daxter said. "We might wanna consider founding some food aid for the metal heads so that they'll stop gnawing on the limos."

A hand with fingers thicker than the ottsel's waist curled around the naked frame of the Shark, thumb rubbing against one of the holes left from fangs. If possible, the bushy eyebrows crept even lower.

"You should'a just let 'em eat yer scrawny butts instead, if ye ask me," Kleiver said.

"We aren't asking."

Those two words were all that Jak offered. He swung himself onto the ground, careless, still irritated at the waste of time. But Kleiver was not about to let them go that easily, stepping into the blonde's path.

"Well? Did ya cap the big momma?" he rumbled.

Jak's face hardened, but he never even had to consider explaining. There were already detestable excuses in the air, the weight of Daxter's feet on his shoulders shifting as the voice snapped at the silence.

"Ah, about that… there were some, ah, complications."

"Really," Kleiver said.

A dangerous sparkle of smugness leapt into his eye.

Kleiver had nothing against excuses. Kleiver loved excuses. They all made such funny squishy sounds under his boot. Jak rolled his eyes, the possible argument already running through his brain.

Joy.

Sig got in between, landing his boots on the ground with a determined thud. Resting his Peace Maker over his shoulder, he waved at the direction of the desert.

"We tracked it all the way home, but we gotta get back there with a better car. Unless you wanted us to make Shark pancake at the bottom of a big hole."

"Watch it, Sig, he might get a craving!" Daxter interjected.

Kleiver ignored the ottsel, glaring at Sig for a moment. He might as well have looked at a statue. Finally he scoffed and turned back to the Shark, waving his hand at the small troop.

"Fine, ya sissies. Now clear out, we gotta have a look at this baby."

Sig caught Jak's eye as they both took off towards the city entrance, smirks tugging at their lips. Then a familiar voice let out an all too loud whisper.

"Yeah, we really don't wanna see him kiss the booboos, now do we?"

A hand shot up to hide a snicker, Jak's head dipping forwards while his eyes squeezed shut. Daxter grinned, ignoring the non-too impressed rolled eye he got from the last part of the trio. The growl from behind them just made it better.

The city gate slid open and they stepped through.

Kleiver did not waste another thought about them as soon as they were out of sight, turning to estimate the damage on the vehicle. A few nicks were hardly anything to lose sleep over, but stingers were small buggers…

He sat down on a knee, taking his gun from his back. The sand's whisper was the only sound as he poked the Peace Maker's head between the ground and the Shark's underside, holding an armored arm up for defense in case something would leap out at him.

But nothing attacked.

Satisfied with that Kleiver stood and looked around, gaze running over the parking lot and the handful of warriors walking about, minding their own business. Not finding the one he looked for, Kleiver raised his voice.

"Zem! Get yer fickle ass over here!"

A shuffle, screech of tiny wheels. A pair of boots appeared beneath the bulk of another vehicle poised beside the gate. In a clumsy roll the rest of a body followed, held up on a makeshift board on wheels.

The sunlight sparkled on the sweat covering the man's brow, adding to the effect of the black stains of oil covering him. He got up, rolling his broad shoulders as he squinted at Kleiver.

"What?" he called.

He went ignored, Kleiver glaring at the Shark again.

"I said get over here and check the damage!" he snapped.

"On my way."

A metallic clatter of a screwdriver hitting similar items, and Zem bent down to pick up his box of tools from the ground. He paused only for another moment to grab the board by the rope fastened in it, hanging it over the edge of the box.

As he walked he stuck his free hand in his armpit and pulled off the dirty glove, letting out a deep breath while wiping his forehead.

Skin rubbed sweat away from skin forever darkened and marked by thick stripes of gray tattoos.

An eyebrow went up as he got close enough to see the bite marks.

"What did they do, park it in a hive?" he asked.

He dropped the box and board, kicking the latter closer to the Shark. Kleiver shrugged, growling.

"Should really make the nipper fix his own trashing," he said.

A roll of his eyes.

"But he's useless with that," he added.

Zem paused for a moment in his attempt to put the glove back on, glancing towards the city gate. His hands clenched, leather crumbling between the fingers.

Kleiver did not notice his mechanic staring off into space, busy giving the Shark's frame a second look over. He looked up only when he heard Zem speaking.

"Well, blondie's a fighter."

A dull tone, eyes narrowed towards the city. The statement hung in the air, Kleiver giving the mechanic an odd look.

It was a pure fact, and yet he made it sound as if it could be questioned.

The big man shrugged it off a moment later. Most of the ex-KGs had been doing nothing but acting weird around Jak from day one, it was nothing to consider anymore. As long as nobody attacked somebody else, Kleiver could not find himself caring. Bad pasts were rather compulsory if you were a wastelander, causing many of them to avoid each other – often more or less politely.

But for Damas' and their own sakes, the majority of them also knew better than to push. All in all things were peachy.

"Yeah, yeah," Kleiver said, waving it all off. "And if he doesn't cap the mouth of that rat he'll get a fur hat to go with his gun one of these days."

Zem smirked a little, then laid down on his board to scuffle beneath the Shark. Safely out of sight, shielded by the tough machinery all remains of the smirk dropped and he allowed himself a long, slow sigh. Only after that could he reach up, fumbling over the pipes and once smooth surfaces in the search for holes, scraping his gloved hands against the metal.

* * *

'

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Jak.

'

From the moment I stepped into the arena that first time I knew that it wouldn't end well. I had been pissed off for quite a while, and the introduction I got of Spargus didn't help. So yeah, "bring 'em on". I really needed to kill something.

And it went well for a while… until the cheering got to me. All the whistles and clapping, the shouts – they didn't care if it were the marauders or Daxter and me. They wanted us to die spectacularly, just like Haven.

So I flipped. Totally. And let Dark Jak out in front of an entire city.

And then I stood there on the platform glaring at Damas, waiting for the disgust and hatred I had already seen in the eyes of the weird woman with the face paint.

Waiting to be called a monster again.

But they kept cheering.

And Damas…

I have taken orders from a lot of people over the years. Samos, Keira, Torn, Ashelin, Krew, Sig, Vin, Onin… and I have done everything asked of me – because I had promised, because I had to, because I thought it would gain me something.

But Damas?

I'm proud to take orders from him. He and his entire city looked at this filthy beast I am, and called it useful.

'

End Introspection.

'


	6. Desert night

Chapter 5; Never ending past

'

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Jak.

'

Shit, I acted like a greenhorn back there in the ruins. I just lose track of everything when I let the dark eco take over, everything but the enemy. That might as well have killed me. Idiot. Can't use eco to fight the heat.

But I didn't have time to think, it happened so fast. Just like everything else.

They don't normally attack Daxter, they just don't. He's not important, he's just a pet, an accessory… they have to keep thinking that. But it was just because I ducked, wasn't it? It must have been aiming for me, and I messed up. He could've been hurt because of me, of course I flipped. Nobody hurts Dax. Nobody.

But it was different this time, I haven't lost it for a while. And I don't remember looking at Daxter like that before. I used to be… worried that I'd hurt him sometime when I was out of it, but it never happened.

I can remember things better now. I remember him in my hands, the claws behind him, and him talking to me as if it wasn't me. I don't really like that, it's still me, it is, I don't want him treating _me_-

But at the same time, I still want to be told that I'm not the monster. Even when I can see through its eyes more clearly, can remember being it. I can't really deny it to myself anymore, but as long as he does it, he doesn't call me a monster, he… it's okay. It's okay.

I saw it, I saw it better than ever.

He's not scared of me, not even when I held him and wasn't me, when he wasn't safe on my shoulder.

Daxter's never said that I'm not a monster, not straight to my face. He just skirts around it, says it in other ways. It's far more than anybody else does, they just try to deny it. And still, I kinda worried before. But he's not scared.

I can't ask for anything more. Other things just aren't attainable… but it's enough. It has to be.

'

End Introspection.

'

* * *

There were several bars in Spargus, all with one simple rule set down. "Hold your liquor or you're gonna get it". Oh, it was not a written rule. But nobody would care if you had the hangover of a lifetime, if you had a job to do there were no excuses less than a broken arm or leg that could get you out of it.

And if there was something that Kleiver loved, it was to torture already suffering people by sending them out into the blazing desert to fight for their lives. Wastelanders knew, or learned very quickly, to quit drinking while they were ahead.

Except for one. Of course, he did not actually count as a wastelander, despite doing odd jobs every now and then. But since he was not expected to get his own battle amulet anytime soon, but was too small to really bother about, he was just… there.

And he kept refusing that One Rule despite the fact that he was bound to be dragged along on another mission the next day. It still boggled the mind of many, even his best friend.

Well, at least he wasn't the one who had to do all the walking.

The Black Oasis was a decent bar, and the fact that it was situated in the cellar of a house near the ocean made it pleasantly cool even during most of the day. Sig himself usually went to bars closer to his own place, but he was not one to complain about something like that. The drinks were perfectly fine, and Jak and Daxter seemed to like it.

Or they just went there because the latter had a personal vendetta against the night-bartender. It had so far offered much amusement to most of the guests and obviously continued to cause Jak a good deal of frustration.

The air seemed to thicken as the two men and the ottsel made their way down the stair into the dusk. Voices fell silent in the back of the big room where the largest crowd sat, and glances were flung towards the intruders. From the less populated tables came half-waves and calls of recognition, returned with a raised hand now and then. Not everyone glared, thankfully.

Sig took careful note of how Jak kept his gaze glued to the bar as he crossed the floor, while Daxter kept chattering away on his shoulder. The big man rolled his eyes, but it was with relief he concluded that things were getting better. A glance to the side told him that most of the tattooed men at the other end of the room had turned away and tried to get their conversations going again. However, many kept watching Jak's every move with unveiled aggravation.

Not until he had hopped onto a barstool did Jak look around, glaring daggers in return. Faces marked with the symbols of those serving Baron Praxis turned away, jaws set in stone – but some remained unmoving, shouting a mute challenge at the blonde.

It went against the law of nature, Sig figured, that there had not been a murder or twenty in the first few days of Jak's life in Spargus.

"Hey Jak, are you listening?"

Blue eyes blinked and moved, drawn to the wonder of orange fuzziness that hopped onto the counter. Sig sat down between his friend and the crowd, blocking their view of the blonde. He got a half-glare himself for this, but ignored it. There were no safety measures that were ridiculous when it came to this mix, not with alcohol added to it. Somebody could always get stupid.

"So anyway," Daxter yapped on, "I was saying that you really oughta squeeze Jinx for a bit more when you sell those artifacts to him. You know he'll sell them off for triple dough."

Jak did not get a chance to reply during the brief pause as Daxter gave his chin a thoughtful rub.

"Then again," the ottsel added, grinning and giving the blonde a wink, "I bet he might be giving you a few extra bucks for getting to live after calling you Pretty-Boy."

He cackled and ducked away from the hand coming at him, and took cover behind Sig's huge fist. Jak did not say anything, but his lips stretched in a half-smirk.

That was when the bartender finished serving a rowdy costumer by the corner of the bar, and came over to the trio. She quirked an eyebrow at Daxter.

"Back for more, are we?"

Jak rolled his eyes to hold back a groan, catching sight of Sig's highly amused expression. A few chuckles were heard from the closest tables, the attention only riling Daxter up further. He crossed his arms and stood straight up, braving the blank look of the female bartender with a huge grin.

"You ain't getting rid of me yet," he declared. "Do your worst!"

The blank look split in an evil smirk. She glanced at Jak and caught the small shake of his head, signaling that the_ real_ "worst" was out of the question as usual. This only got her lip curling further.

Weaklings.

Back in the day when the duo were still new to Spargus and visited the Oasis for the first time, a veteran in the place had kindly offered a piece of advice to the newcomers. Must have been a generous fellow. Or he might have known what would come, seeing as he was now sitting further down the bar with an amused expression on his scared face.

To this day Jak still wanted to punch him, and there were no signs of that feeling disappearing anytime soon.

What the "gentleman" had said was:

"Jus' a tip, kids. Dontcha ever ask Etche there ta make ya somethin' she likes if ya wanna be able ta walk outta here with yer tongue left in yer mouth."

Daxter took this to heart.

As a challenge.

Jak sighed.

"Usual," he muttered.

A chuckle escaped Sig's throat before he too caught the eye of the bartender, and still snickering made his order.

"Black beer."

"Coming right up."

She paused only to jab her finger towards Daxter.

"And _you_'re going down," she said.

"Not in this life, alchemist," he shot back.

All grins and cackles, Etche spun towards the collection of glasses, fruits, knives and bottles that made up her laboratory. Daxter grinned too until a pointing finger poked his back.

"We're going hunting tomorrow," Jak said, "try not to get plastered, okay?"

Daxter gave the finger a slap and crinkled his face at Jak.

"Relax, who d'ya think you're talking to, big guy?" the fuzzy one said.

The reply that Jak had in mind ended up cut off by a cooing voice from behind them.

"The talking fur hat who'll be singin' sweet, sweet love songs to his friend within the hour?"

Jak turned around and glared at the foursome of warriors sitting around a nearby table. The woman who had spoken straightened up her tilted head and snickered together with her friends, the scars covering all their faces making the mirth a rather disturbing sight – a missing tooth here and there only added to it. The laughter had nothing of the high-pitched cutesy manner of the taunt.

While he could not be bothered to remember any name, Jak fully well knew that they had seen the show before and were up for it again. It was not that hard to reach such a conclusion.

He turned away again, shaking his head. Daxter grinned at him.

"Well hey," Sig said, smirking slightly, "it ain't like he's a pain to lug through the city afterwards."

There was a huff from the counter, the two men looking up to see an ottsel standing there pouting and with his arms folded. Anybody had to agree, whether they liked it or not; it was a quite stupidly cute display. Fuzzy just isn't the best state for expressing exasperation.

"I have no idea what you're going on about, Spike!" Daxter declared.

All around them mildly curious expressions grew to amused smirks, smirks to grins. That half mind to shield Daxter came back again, but Jak never got the chance. Before he could make a plan, a small glass half filled with a bluish liquid landed in front of the ottsel.

The drink hissed, apparently not pleased with being swirled about within its transparent prison. Jak glanced at it, then at Etche. She grinned evilly at Daxter. He in turn studied the drink, arms folded and eyes narrowed as if he was trying to figure out how it would attack.

Jak chanced a look at Sig. Even he seemed interested in this development.

Sighing, Jak returned his attention to Daxter, who was about to make the first move before the drink could. The warrior could feel the beginning of a headache behind his temple.

Minutes passed.

Minutes that lost more and more of their silence. In the back of the bar the conversations continued regardless of what was going on by the counter, but the people closer to the attraction of the evening did not bother to talk. They were too busy snickering.

"Y'knoow, Shiggy, ya shoouldn't log that bigash gun 'round 'll th' time. Ish not healthy."

A small fuzzy finger waggled at the air in the general direction of Sig. It became more and more apparent for every passing word that the big man struggled to look unimpressed to maintain his image – but his lips were helplessly twitching. Few others in the surrounding area bothered with that kind of restraint.

"Mean, yer gonna kill'um onna sheez days. What'ser namesh… th' heads. Yeah."

Jak sipped his own drink in silence, his eyelids parting just slightly to give Daxter a suspicious look. The ottsel laid sprawled on his back, leaning his head backwards to smile lazily at Sig. The small hand flopped in the other direction.

"Gotta leave some work for sexy here, ya knoow! Don't leave the babe hanging-"

Jak drained his glass, put it down and scooped Daxter up in the same motion. He caught Etche's eye just before turning around and slipping off his chair, her amused nod assuring that the last artifact he'd handed her still counted as payment for this round of drinks. Sig just waved at the blonde, his other hand used to hide the huge smirk on the dark face.

Daxter kept mumbling something while he was carried towards the entrance, laughter erupting behind both of them. Jak merely rolled his eyes.

As the blonde left the thick air of the bar behind and walked up the street towards the duo's own little apartment, night had fallen well enough to obscure most faces ahead of him. Therefore, he did not scowl at the small group passing him just a few yards away from the bar, as he never saw the marked features some of them wore.

But after the blonde had passed by, one of the shadows looked around and narrowed his eyes at the disappearing back. After a moment he shook his head and turned back, holding a hand to his forehead.

"You okay there, Zem?"

He parted two fingers and squinted at the speaker as a hand landed on his arm. The other warriors had stopped too, looking back at him.

"Headache," he said, forcing a smile.

"You gotta tell Kleiver to keep ya outta the sun now and then, he'll boil you alive one'a these days."

"Yeah, sure. You'll tab my funeral then?" Zem retorted.

"We'll make a fund, promise," one of the others said, eliciting a round of chuckles.

"Thanks, guys."

Zem grinned a little, letting his hand fall as he shook himself free and headed down the stair into the Black Oasis. His companions were all around him, talking to each other, distracting him. But he remained silent, only listening. Nobody commented, probably thinking him tired.

One went to order their beer, making a hole in the conversation where that voice should have been. Suddenly the distractions weren't enough anymore. Zem stared at the table, fidgeting with the dirty gloves hanging by his belt.

Trying to block out the sound of other gloves, harder, clenched, slamming into a body that spasmed, writhed, weaker and weaker attempts to get free.

He clenched his teeth so hard they grinded against each other.

Standing close, too close all the time, hearing the acid whisper. Another kind of glove, a leaner hand clenched in blonde hair, jerking the swollen face upwards.

_"Dirty, ugly, filthy, useless little monster!"_

A big glass slammed down in front of him, startling Zem out of his thoughts.

"You sure you're okay?" the fetcher said, raising an eyebrow.

"Meh."

Grabbing the glass, Zem took a deep draught of the drink before speaking again.

"I'll jus' head home early an' sleep," he said.

"Prolly good. Yer kinda pale, buddy. Gotta take care of yerself or we'll have to come and carry ya from work."

At that, Zem just grunted something inaudible.

'-'

And nobody ever saw the giant body rising from the ruins of an old city, taking off into the sky with heavy flaps of its leathery, black wings. It headed towards Haven City from the wasteland, the dull glow of its skull gem illuminating the air around its head.

And in Haven, the metallic hulk that once had been a man waited for a report.

'-'

It was not that far to get to their own little place from the bar, and Jak could soon climb the outside stairs up the wall. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and kicked it shut again after stepping inside. Just making sure that it was properly closed he left the entrance and stepped further inside the small apartment. There was a lock, but he had not bothered with it for a while.

When they had first arrived to Spargus, he had used to lock the door out of habit. In Haven, you could not expect to wake up after leaving your door unlocked during the night. And even if you did, you would probably wake up a whole lot poorer. The habit had persisted for a couple of weeks, then he had left it behind. Yet another remain of Haven discarded by the wayside.

Sure, Spargus was the place for what were called Haven's worst. By Haven's judgment, that would be. They did not bother to throw thieves out, that would be too much work. And those who still remained in Spargus were the people who had the brains and strength to a) make it out of the arena alive and b) enough sense to realize that pissing Damas off was a very, very bad idea. Besides, everyone was too busy to help each other fight for survival to even think of sneaking into somebody else's place.

Daxter had voiced some worry about the less than friendly-minded ex-KGs, but Jak did not find a single grain of concern about that within his body.

First of all, no damn KG in the world could make him worry. Make him struggle with memories until he possibly went into a blind rage, yes. But not worry.

Second, all of the exes that might wish him dead knew better than to try an attack in a group smaller than twenty against one. And that would be rather hard to sneak inside without him or Daxter waking up, or somebody else getting suspicious. Spargus never slept, that was about the only thing it had in common with Haven.

And there was that thing with Damas. Jak hardly felt generous enough to count on any of the exes even knowing what honor was, but the king of Spargus could without a doubt inspire something in everyone. Not fear, exactly, but something between that and respect. You just did not go up against Damas. Jak, having done it once, had no plans on repeating the act.

It couldn't be worth it.

He had no other words to describe it than the knowledge that he actually _wanted_ to receive orders from the man. Not because of any selfish reasons, but because any order was something that would benefit all of Spargus. Benefit Damas. Something, somebody worth fighting for.

Somebody who would be proud of him if he succeeded.

And that was also the sole reason that he did not tear every tattooed bastard apart on sight, even if his hands twitched in anticipation.

He shook himself out of the thoughts, stepping further inside the room to lay Daxter down on the table. The ottsel just mumbled something when he was carefully slid off the hands and onto the stone slab, dragging up his arms beneath his head. Jak moved around the simple piece of furniture, heading for the two open windows. It only took him a few steps, the room was not that big.

It was a simple abode, no different from what everyone else in Spargus owned. Nothing more than one bigger room with a table and a pair of woven chairs, and a large clay pot for the weekly rations of water. In the back was a smaller room, with a plain mat for sleeping. Bare and simple. But it was more than the two friends had had in years. It was a home.

The windows were a pair of square holes in the wall, accompanied by a wooden flap each to block out the sunlight or night chill. Jak reached for the closest one, but a sound made him turn around.

Seeing Daxter sit straight up, grinning at him, confirmed a suspicion which Jak had nurtured for a little while. He bent forwards, placing both hands on the table.

"You're not drunk," he said.

Daxter bounced onto his feet, clapping his hands above his head as he made his declaration.

"Ding-ding! One point to the blondie. He's in da lead, people!"

He grinned, teeth glimmering in the torchlight fluttering through the windows.

"You see Jak, I couldn't get drunk outta my skull when there was something I had to tell you."

Raising an eyebrow, Jak bent a little closer while one of the fuzzy hands fell. The other one hung before the protruding little face, waving in a parody of a coyly calming gesture.

"There, there," the ottsel said. "There are no wumpbees in the desert, not even metal head ones. Nothing to be afraid of."

The glare only met with a wide smirk, despite its force.

"Don't make me wanna smack you, Dax."

"Hah, try as you might I could kick your ass a-ny-time."

As he spoke, Daxter put his fists to his "hips" and stiffly moved his head from side to side for every syllable pronounced.

"I know all your weaknesses, buddy boy," he finished.

Jak raised an eyebrow and glanced at his own shoulder. Enough to point out that the bad muscles in his back had already been defused by the very person claiming he could abuse them.

"Don't count on it, there'll be plenty of knots to poke in the future. And don't you roll your eyes at me, pal, you know it's true!"

He received a long, blank look for all of this. Eventually he cleared his throat, smile never faltering.

"Well hey!" he said, waving his hands about, "I couldn't tell ya about the 'heads when there were spies all over the place, you know. I had to make sure I could convince you at some point, 'cause you really started to look pale back there."

That did not even warrant a comment. Jak just shook his head and turned, walking over to the water pot and lifting its lid. The pottery gave a hollow clang as he grabbed the dipper hanging on the ear of the jar. A soft splash followed as he filled the smaller container with water and turned around, dropping the cover back where it belonged.

Still silent Jak put the dipper down on the table, looking at Daxter. The ottsel shrugged and bent forwards, placing both hands on the ceramic edge of the big bowl.

It was clumsy, but the damn thing was too heavy for him to lift. But he had already decided a good while back that it was okay; nobody saw it except for Jak.

The blonde in question sat down and leant his chin on a fist while his pal drank his fill of the water. Blue eyes moving slowly, gaze studying the motions of the small orange creature – the scrawny little body, the tail swishing back and forth for balance. Well, at least Daxter was far from falling into the dipper tonight.

He was in one piece too.

Jak's face hardened for a moment.

Not an orange hair out of place. No wounds. The blonde frowned, trying to relax.

"You checkin' me out?"

The tension snapped and Jak blinked at the sudden question, catching sight of Daxter's smirk a moment too late. He had been watching, too. The ottsel straightened up, swiping a few drops of water from his lips while making a pose.

"If you want some sessy ottsel views ye're at the right place, mister!"

Maybe he _was_ drunk after all. But he had not yet declared that he was in love with his friend, so he could not be that drunk… and he seemed to have a grip of everything. Except for the sudden bout of flirting.

Jak's lips twitched, and he quickly rolled his eyes again to cover it. But the plan failed; the fuzzy smirk still widened to a grin.

But he did not know the full lip-twitch scoop.

Jak shook himself out of the thoughts.

Daxter had stopped thinking about what had happened in the ruins, obviously. And if so, Jak figured that he should be able to do the same. Shaking his head he picked up the dipper and drained it himself. The moment it was back on the table he was turning to the windows again.

_Dot-dot-dot-_

He reached backwards without even looking as the sound of padded feet against stone disappeared, and the arm swung back from the weight of two feet of ottsel. It took only a moment for Daxter to climb to Jak's shoulder; a few nimble grabs of armor, fur brushing skin between the protective metal, and the weight was in place.

A small hand grabbed a long ear for balance, making Jak snort. Daxter pouted.

"What, _now_ you're laughing, huh?" he demanded.

"No."

Wood smacked against stone and Jak fastened the metal clip to keep the window closed.

"You couldn't fool me even if you wanted to, buddy, I saw you snickering. Did too! Don't laugh at me when I'm not making a joke! Hey!"

Daxter's voice only grew louder with his delight at seeing Jak's lips stretch.

The room fell into darkness as the second window was closed, but Daxter kept chatting while Jak felt his way along the wall, the dry sound of boots against floor the only reply the ottsel got.

But Jak was listening, and Daxter knew it.

The warrior made his way into the smaller room and found the sleeping mat with his foot. When he was certain where it was, he sat down and started to blindly work on getting his boots off. Daxter slid off the shoulder, still talking as the sound of his pads against the floor grew softer upon reaching the mat.

"… deserve a break. At least in these joints they have some respect for ya if you crawl into your joint after finishing a job and let ya rest. Gotta give'm credit for that. Apart from Kleiver, but you know him… ugh. Could we avoid him better, Jak? I swear he's still out to get me, he looks at me weirdly all the time. I'm not making it up!"

At that point Jak grunted, making it clear that yes, he could very well imagine that Kleiver still had culinary ideas when it came to Daxter.

"Right, and speaking of that I'm still getting back at you for that one of these days, don't you forget that!"

By now Jak's eyes had gotten used enough to the darkness to let him see Daxter's pointing finger jabbing at him. He snorted again, a little louder this time.

"I wouldn't lose," he said. It was not, however, the first time he countered with that reply. But he was not giving it up anytime soon.

"It's not about losing, it's the principle!" Daxter insisted.

Jak started on his shoulder armor as he retorted. He did not let it show, but it was quite a relief to fulfill the motion without the flare in his back, that which he had suffered last night.

"Fine," he said. "Next time I'll bet the Shark."

"_Next time_?"

"You never know."

Jak smirked. Daxter grumbled for a while longer, but when the blonde finally had gotten rid of his armor and stretched out on the mat it didn't take long before small feet and hands padded across the woven material.

"Tell ya what, next time I'll just be part of the audience," came the ottsel's voice through the dusk.

There was only a grunt in reply. Daxter continued without hesitating, finding his way along Jak's side. One of the big hands laid beneath the blonde's head, but the other one laid flopped on the pillow and waiting.

"Then again, there's that issue with you managing stuff without my help," Daxter mused on. He curled up, laying his head in Jak's palm. "Drat, I guess I can't let you down, now can I?"

Maybe it was subconscious, or maybe he planned it so. Either way, Daxter did not let the day end with even a jocular argument. In the darkness Jak's smirk softened. He rolled over on his side, hand emerging from beneath his head to land on the fuzzy little back.

"Hey now, you're too hot!" Daxter protested.

Jak's lips twitched, the humor gone from his face. But it did not show in the darkness. He let up, fingertips brushing a fuzzy neck in an idle scratch.

It could not be just the alcohol that made him open his mouth and ask. He had been wondering the same thing many times before, and after having more to drink than tonight.

Maybe it was just the way Daxter had just expressed himself, or the unease that still clung to the blond from the incident in the ruins. Jak was not quite sure why.

But he asked.

"… Why do you always call me 'sexy' anyway?"

"Uh?"

Daxter blinked, raising his head at the sudden question. The big shadow that was Jak laid silent however. Unsure what to say, and feeling a beginning heat crawl up his throat to his cheeks, the ottsel shifted uncomfortably. Jak removed his hand, rolling onto his back again while still keeping his head turned to the side.

With a cough, Daxter tried to get a grip. He was used to people questioning his jokes and he could laugh them all off with another joke, but Jak wasn't "people". And the particular joke he questioned abruptly appeared all the more embarrassing. The alcohol suddenly did not seem to be the only thing making him feel warmer than usual.

"Well, ah…"

He coughed again.

"I gotta keep us both on the edge, y'know."

It got much easier once he got started, the awkwardness swaying in the face of Daxter's mad talking skills. Crawling into a sitting position he leant against Jak's shoulder, waving his hand at the darkness as he went on.

"There ain't no pretty gal to flirt with here, but I can't let meself get rusty. And as for you, everyone and their mother back in Haven wants ya, buddy. Second to me, of course, but they really should form a line. Point is, ya gotta stay alert or I'll have to go out there and save your ass more than necessary."

As he stopped, the silence begun to stretch.

Jak said nothing at first, but eventually the hand on the other side of his body rose up against the light from the other room. Seeing the impending smack Daxter got ready to leap aside, hoping that the alcohol still had not gotten to his legs.

But the hand never got that far, instead flopping down on Jak's chest. The soft thud might as well have been an ottsel's heart falling into his stomach.

"Right…" Jak murmured.

There was nothing positive in his voice, only a tired sarcasm. Broken nails scratched, idly pushing the cloth of his tunic around. Underlining without a needless word what was beneath the fabric. Maybe the question had not been whether he was called sexy, but rather why he was called so by somebody who had seen what was hidden.

Daxter only allowed it for a moment before sitting up even straighter.

"If you go all angsty on me now I'm revoking your bar privileges!" he stated, jabbing a finger at the air by Jak's cheek.

The hand slid away to the sound of a snort. As if.

Nodding, the ottsel laid back down.

As the silence lasted and Jak's breathing eventually evened, Daxter dared a sigh of relief. He made a mental note to avoid that jibe in the future.

Making himself comfortable he closed his eyes, soon enough drifting off. It had been a straining day. Fuzzy heroes deserved their sleep as well.

He was not quite sure if he had time to properly fall asleep, but he could vaguely recall drifting between sleep and wakening – the knowledge that something was wrong floating towards him though he tried to recoil and drift off again, unwilling to deal with it.

But then he heard it.

Mutters, unintelligible at first. Starting to form words, forming a phrase. Sleep shattered and Daxter sat straight up, the haze of alcohol drowned in a rush of panic. In a clumsy roll the huge hand brushed past his back and disappeared in the darkness.

"Don't- don't…"

Jak turned over, back rising up like a massive wall between his face and Daxter. Hissing, the ottsel leapt to his feet and dashed around the blonde head. He narrowly avoided the arm that moved about, in the unconscious state sluggish – raised in defense and pulled away by whoever Jak fought in his sleep.

"Jak!"

Daxter finally reached the other side, his eyes so used to the darkness that he could see the contorted face. Before he could reach out Jak rolled onto his back again, thrashing while the muttering got louder. The words grew more distinct, the entire phrase becoming clearer. He did not seem to hear Daxter's call, curling up, trying to protect himself. Soon he would scream.

"- me… don't!"

It was almost a shout now, as Jak's arms pulled themselves up over his face. Daxter bit his lip, knowing this situation. He had to stop it before the scream.

"Jak!" he shouted, louder this time while batting his hands at the bare arms.

No reaction, the shaking head might just as well be the dream again. The words continued to pour between Jak's lips, broken, hoarse-

… frightened.

Daxter pounced.

"Wake up!"

He landed hard on Jak's waist, smashing his small feet into the tense muscles.

"Oof!"

With a sharp gasp Jak sat up, Daxter tumbling onto the floor. He hit his back and groaned, but looking up the relief washed over him. The giant silhouette of his friend was silent, sitting with one hand pressed to the now indistinct face.

No scream tonight either.

Daxter got up with some help from his tail, huffing loudly as he brushed imaginary dust off his arms and chest. Torchlight made it through the planks covering the window in the other room and squinting upwards, he caught the reflection of light in an eye. Jak gazed down between his fingers, rocking slightly with every labored breath.

"Man, that was fun," Daxter dryly said as he padded closer. "Haven't done that in ages."

He pretended that he did not notice the trembling.

Jak groaned, lifting the other hand to rub his face with both of them. Still like that, he spoke.

"Did I say something?"

The words were muffled because of his palms, but still more distinct than what he had been mumbling just a minute earlier.

Daxter threw up his hands.

"Nah. You still oughta take a sleep oration course, buddy," he said, somehow managing a grin. "Let me hear something better than 'mmphsgrhh', at least!"

A slow, deep breath flowed out between the hands before they fell into Jak's lap. He might believe the statement or he might not, Daxter could not tell in the darkness. He could only hope.

Seconds dragged on in silence between them, the only sound Jak's harsh breathing. Then finally he spoke again.

"Good… good."

A hand reached out and Daxter grabbed hold of the wrist, being lifted from the floor. He pretended he did not feel the trembling either.

As his feet touched something solid he let go, plopping down on Jak's chest as the blonde laid back down. The stench of fresh sweat assaulted Daxter's sensitive nose, but it was something he had gotten so used to over the years that he could ignore that as well. He stretched out, laying his arms just beneath Jak's collarbone and resting his fuzzy chin on his own wrists. His tail lazily swished back and forth over the soaked tunic beneath him, marking that he was right there and awake.

Big fingertips dug into his fur, scratching clumsily. It did not feel good, motions too sluggish and heavy. But he did not protest, knowing that it was something Jak did in an attempt to calm both of them.

He had to help too.

"Jak?"

"Hm?"

"Do ya figure Damas ever sleeps? It sure seems like he can start ordering us around and shouting mass-orders across the entire city any hour of the day and night. We're real damn lucky being foot soldiers and all, I s'pose… ya notice those bags under his eyes? Maybe we oughta bring him some soothing tea or something…"

It sounded lame at first, until he warmed up enough to chatter away as if nothing had happened. Because Daxter knew that Jak liked to hear about Damas.

Eventually Jak's breathing evened out and the hand slid away, but Daxter kept talking. Babbling in a lower and lower voice until he murmured softly.

He did not fall silent until he was sure that Jak slept, only then daring to take in a deep breath and slide off the hot chest. There was a protesting mumble, but he quickly curled up in the crook of Jak's neck and the blonde settled again. Sighing softly Daxter rubbed the top of his head against the rough jaw line above him. Another murmur, this one calm.

Daxter sleepily grinned and laid down, eventually falling asleep as well.

* * *

'

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Daxter.

'

Jak's a real worrywart when he's in that mood, lemme tell you. Just don't tell anybody else, 'kay? I don't want him to lose sleep over stuff like that, he needs his naps. 'Cause if he doesn't sleep, it gets hard to be as alert as both of us needs to be, y'know. And then things'll get nasty. And I really don't like that. Things could get real bad a year ago, with him misplacing snores every other night. It's loads better nowadays, so don't you dare mess him up. If you do I'll kick your sorry ass into next week.

But he sure can be a fusspot. Jak cares… a lot. It's just that people often don't seem to see it. He's not a softie, nuh-uh. You'd need a pat on the head and a nice cup o' something if you'd think that.

It's just that beneath all that anger and thorns turned outwards there're a lot of other feelings. I'm really amazed that people seem so thick – I mean, his face is like an open book. It can't just be that I'm so used to reading him. Those eyebrows jump around like crazy grassbugs whenever something's up, and sometimes you could play the drums on his tense muscles.

Maybe they notice though, but can't be assed to bother. Or they don't believe it. Heeello? Selfless dude who'll risk his life to save your hides, and you can't believe it when he shows some emotion?

I sure do. Think of what he's done for me. He saves my cute little bum on an almost daily basis, if nothing else than by capping the nasty little critters ahead before they even notice us.

Okay, so he's the one they all aim for.

And he's the one who brings us both into danger.

Humph. It's the thought that counts, you know.

…

What?

…

Well, ah… yeah. Thoughts that count. There was that… time. Just after… that. You know.

Damn, damn, damn, I don't wanna think about it! Dammit!

…

Oohkay. Deep breath. I guess I'll try that "deal with issues" crap.

Huh.

There was that time just after Misty Island… well, we were still on Misty Island, technically. I must've passed out from all the screaming, 'cause I woke up just when Jak set me down on the bottom of the boat. He was so damn huge, I wasn't used to it. I just plopped over, trying to understand the size of his hands. Just stared at him as he prepared to set off, and once we were out to sea I watched him wave at Samos' hut in the distance. I knew he meant to say that ol' Garden Gnome probably could do something.

And he sure said that he was sorry, with his eyes.

And that… pissed me off more than anything. Thank you for that, man, ol' buddy best friend, _sorry_! Sorry for the trauma, do you have any idea how scary that was, falling and falling forever, seeing that goo speed closer and knowing there was nothing to save you? And then get swallowed by it, even if it was quick it just thrashed me and I was still so damn shocked and scared and now I'm _this THING_-

Huh.

A-and… he looked away 'cause he had to check the reefs, or it was an excuse because he was feeling bad or something. So… he didn't see it when I glared at him, and that was good 'cause he probably would've read me like I did him. I said… stuff. Real bad stuff. Stuff I couldn't put into words for all my blabbering.

…

I… I-I said- thought that… I hate you, I want you to pay.

Yeah. I was… real pissed.

But it didn't last long, you know. You _can't_ stay mad at a guy who fights his way through the whole frickin' known world just to fix a problem for you. My anger didn't last longer than until the realization that he'd go all the way north for my sake, 'cause I sure knew it was a looong way.

And I hung on just to make sure he wouldn't screw up again. And you know what? If it hadn't been for all those near-death experiences, it would'a been pure fun. I learnt pretty fast how quick and agile I'd become, and the world was a lot more pleasant place back then. Hell, I wouldn't complain to do that all over again. Those lurkers were nothing in compare to what we deal with now.

And Jak was happier.

…

Y-yeah, I'm trying to skirt around it.

Uhm. You know when it's in the middle of the night and you just woke with a start from a nightmare, and you try to calm down and tell yourself that it wasn't real? But there… just is no logic in the middle of the night when you've just been through a fright trip thanks to your subconscious.

Well… the same equation works when it weren't you who had the nightmare, trust me.

Jak can… scream. Really scream. It's even scarier than it should be, because he's Jak. He's not afraid of anything. So when he is… it's not pretty. And that stuff he says before he screams, I wake up from that. That stuff that he won't even mention when he's awake. Stuff that I never tell him I've heard.

I'll never get used to it, but at least now I'm prepared for it. The first time… I think it was the third or something night after we got to the Underground. I almost up and died on the spot, couldn't sleep for two nights straight. Just watched him, trying to be prepared to wake him up if it would happen again. Shit. Shit, shit, shit…

Argh!

Okay, the point. Okay.

During those hours when I watched him, and every other time I woke up and worked to calm him down, I… remembered that time in the boat. And you know, you might not believe it but… I do believe in the precursors. I've seen a couple, for cripes' sake, and even before that I saw their artifacts and ruins. I heard their frickin' oracles talk to Jak long before we got to this desert. And… it's really damn easy to believe in anything, curled up in the darkness in the middle of the night, stroking a sweaty cheek and trying to whisper something that might help him forget. I wondered in those hours… if the precursors had decided to grant a wish I made when I sure wasn't thinking straight.

And I wanted to scream that it was okay, I wasn't angry anymore and gods, precursors please, I forgave him, he tried, I know he tried. I wanted to tell Jak that he could stop hurting.

But hell… it was too late.

It gets better in daylight, of course, but the bad taste remains.

It doesn't happen as often now. Guess he's getting better, finally. And I've kinda managed to let go of that illogical crap, because he smiles a lot more these days.

Phew.

… what?

You were supposed to _forget_ that part!

I don't wanna think about it! I don't wanna tell…

I'm not gonna tell Jak unless he wants to start talking.

Shit. I sure hope Keira's never heard him. But I think that if she had… it would've shown. We all would've heard it. It was bad enough talking Torn into shutting up back in the day. I… guess I owe him one for that. That and the back room he flung us into to sleep, where the nightmares couldn't be heard from outside. He only snarled at Jak to stop waking up screaming, though, thanks to our little chat. Okay, I'll admit it, there's a bit of humanity behind the tattoos. Scary, huh?

Oh, shut up. Shut up!

I've… never told anybody. Maybe, yeah… maybe it'll feel better if I let it out.

I really try not to think about it.

Oh god, oh god. It doesn't have to mean anything really, does it?

…

See, that's how I try to lie to myself. Ugly, huh? Hehe… heh…

Jak says… he says that…

"Don't touch me."

Over and over and over until he screams or I manage to wake him up.

Oh god… oh sweet precursors. He doesn't want to talk and I'll never know until he does, there's just the suspicion and his screaming and Erol.

Shit.

One of these days I'm gonna have to ask the tin man himself, because I can't take this much longer.

'

End Introspection.

'


	7. Communication

Chapter 6, Clashes

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Zem.

Me?

I'm just an ex. Ex-KG, that is. Yeah, Damas don't like us calling ourselves that, or others using either term but… it's stuck, and not even he can get it away. S'like our tattoos. He can take almost anything away, but not that.

I guess I used to think he could take away more than he really did.

It's easy to give 'im credit, he's that kind'a man. When you've been as low as me- us, you'll do anything for whoever picks ya up and says that you can earn a second chance. He'll treat you like trash if you don't live up to it, but he gives you another go at life.

Hella more than our Baron fucking bastard Praxis ever did. Yeah, I came here while he was still in charge back there, just before they started getting too desperate for soldiers to keep offing or dumping us in the desert when we messed up. Though I hear they just started using scum in the front instead. Same shit, different way. I got lucky.

Unreal, really. I was scum, was below scum. They usually just put a bullet in our heads. Though… I think I was one'a them uncertain cases, they didn't really know. I sure weren't gonna admit that I wanted to throw Praxis' burning carcass to a flock of metal heads. They just suspected I did. So they threw me into the desert to die slowly, in case they changed their minds halfway back and came to pick me up again while I was still alive, I guess. Somethin' like that.

Happened to a few more too- a few more like me. I'm the last one though, 'less Lorke's still alive with the marauders. Probably is, bastard wouldn't die if you shot him five times. Precursors know I tried- ah, no. Was back in Haven, I wouldn't pull shit like that here. Damas'd throw me out… too. An' I'd throw myself ta boil to death in the sun before I joined the marauders. If I went to them I'd be back where I left, no better'an a bootlicker of Praxis'.

We had an influx of exes half a year or so ago, Haven spring cleaning after Praxis' death an' all. From what I heard they'd just gotten started sorting out the trash from the soldiers, taking up the "throw out" style again.

Most of 'em got their battle amulets, fighters and all. Then half of 'em got themselves thrown out for breaking the rules here. And trust me, once a wastelander you gotta do real bad stuff for Damas to give you the boot. But the marauders, they don't care about anything.

The marauders hate Damas, and us wastelanders. They ain't got proper defense or equipment, but they grab all they can get. Desperate. But I ain't got no sympathy. If you're so low even Damas won't take you in, you've really lost your license to breathe. Ye'r trash when he picks you up, but he makes something outta you. Then you're worth something. But if you don't deserve that and he drops ya, you're lower than you ever were. 'Cause you did something to lose his mercy.

An'… I'm scared a' that. 'Cause I think that… if he knew what I've done, he'd kick me out too. 'S'why I don't fight. Sure I can, but I try not to – it's too damn tempting. Tempting to be like that again. I ain't gonna do it.

Got lucky an' became one'a Kleiver's mechanics. I got real good at it too, not 'cause I like cars but I gotta keep from fighting. Kleiver likes his mechanics with all their fingers intact, so I made sure he'd be guarding mine. Works so far, I get to stay outta the battles most o' the time. I get to keep from that pull o' the trigger that might be one too many. Life's kinda good.

… but then _he _had to come here. I just can't believe the kid's still alive. After all they- he- w-

Fuck.

I hear 'em talking. The exes that came last, most o' them… an' others too, they've seen the kid fight. Like a demon. They think they know something. The exes, they think they know they can hate 'im 'cause he beat 'em up some time. They don't know a fucking thing. Not a single fucking thing.

An' he doesn't either… about me, that is. An' if he ever does, I better suck on a gun before he gets to me.

… but hell if I blame 'im.

End Introspection.

* * *

Computers lazily buzzed and whirred, the light from their buttons flashing in the smooth plastic of the control panels. In the cold illumination from the ceiling, everything took on an almost clinical shine. Even the holy symbols and icons carved in orange metal, insignificant specks of color on the cold walls. Obviously, the room belonged to somebody with a lot of resources and religious conviction.

Furious footsteps cut into the mechanic peace. A lock clicked, followed by a door ripped open and slammed shut. Another click and more steps.

In the middle of the room stood a table, neat stacks of papers and books organized across it. Now the order was wrecked as a pair of hands shuffled through them, knocking some onto the floor. The man did not care as he stormed through the collections of knowledge, searching with such fury that he may as well destroy the papers he was looking for. Never once did he let go of the staff in his hand, no matter how much it got in the way.

A vein throbbed on his scalp, a disturbing sight aided by the rising color of his face. As he grew more frustrated by the minute, the flashing lights of the computers gleamed over a sliver of teeth and sweat erupting above his temples.

He caught himself, straightening up to take a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. Out of habit, he threw a glance at the many icons on the wall, but this did not have the calming effect it usually did. Instead, the color reinforced the memory of humiliation. He gritted his teeth.

Fools! All of them! Whimsically leaving the fate of the very world to somebody who was nothing short of an agent of the darkness that approached!

He tore into the papers again, with reinforced anger.

It was during one of the long, passionate inner monologues that the man suddenly felt an itch at the back of his neck. For a moment he attempted to ignore it, but eventually reached up and dug his fingertips beneath the collar of his coat. A quick scratch and he pulled back, shuffling through his notes again.

The itch persisted. Pursing his lips, he set out to pay it no heed again, waiting for it to subside on its own.

It might have touched his mind that he was being watched. However, he would never have believed in superstition such as that; believing in sixth senses was absolutely ridiculous.

Maybe it would have taken a bit off the shock, if he had been a bit more lenient. But as it was…

"Isn't it past your bedtime, count Veger?"

He spun around, the papers crumbling in his fists. The red faded from his face, being replaced by a pale hue.

A holographic projector stood between two of the computers, but until a minute ago the flat glass bubble had been dark. Now however, it shone brightly – and Veger had definitely not activated it.

Even worse than that, a head floated in the light flowing from the machine, transparent and outlined with pale blue threads. The color did nothing to make it seem kinder. It was distorted, sharp gashes cutting deep within its cheeks and lips perfectly visible.

Veger stared at it in pure disgust, paleness giving away for a furious red again. This did in no way seem to faze the intruder.

"You're starting to irritate me," the head said.

"You are an abomination!" Veger snarled back, lashing out at the holographic image with his staff.

The floating head sparkled a little as the metal stirred the reception, but other than that nothing happened. It looked rather amused, in fact. Veger collected himself and straightened up, but it was a feat to calm down. With his nerves already all over the place, this was the last thing he needed.

"What do you want, _ex_-commander?" he said, ice lacing his voice.

Erol's broken face tilted a little.

"Nothing much," he said. "You're just not important."

But Veger would not be baited again. He stood firm, a fine eyebrow raising in disdain to match the curl of his lip.

"Is that so?" he merely said.

A smirk formed on the bluish lips of the hologram.

"Yes, but I'm sure you could be competent enough to be a delivery boy. I can't seem able to hack into our favorite hero's communicator, sadly…"

A parody of a sigh, and then he was at it again.

"So be a good little church boy and relay my message if you see him before I kill him, will you? Tell Jak that if he goes and gets killed by a moron like you…"

The voice dropped down into a hushed whisper, the mere tone of it making Veger's skin crawl despite his aggravation.

"… I'll be very, very angry with him."

With his lips closing over the last word and a soft _bleep_, the floating image disappeared. The projector's light faded and its bubble returned to obscurity. The computers continued to blink and buzz without a care about what they had just been transmitting.

As he staggered backwards Veger threw an idle glance around the room, even though he knew that he was alone. But only after making sure did he let himself slump against the nearest control panel, pressing a hand to his forehead to keep from shuddering.

In a whole different part of the city, gears heaved as a huge body stood up. Moonlight shone through the opening in the wall of the circular room, glancing off the exposed steel and red coating.

Erol chuckled to himself. Sending off signals like that had been much easier when he had the proper equipment to straighten his own mechanisms, but the trouble was worth it.

Of course, the mere idea of Veger coming anywhere close to killing "the great hero" was absolutely laughable. But Erol liked a little strain on the competition. Besides, that look on Veger's face was satisfying within itself.

And he might have failed once, but the cyborg intended to be a lot more well prepared the next time.

The enormous warp gate on the wall glistened in the moonlight, empty space dark inside the eco-infused metal. Waiting for the signal to come close enough. But it wasn't time yet, and it would take a good while longer.

He could wait. But in the meantime, there was something else he wanted to do…

A distant shriek made him turn his head. A shadow floated past the moon, heading closer for every passing second.

Erol turned, walking away from the opening and towards the entrance to the chamber. Just as he snarled a command for somebody to get up there, the shadow tumbled inside, crashed and rolled until it came to a halt. Slowly and shaking, it dragged itself into a standing position, big wings draped over the floor in exhaust.

It was a weak kind of metal head, with a long, fleshy neck and a great wing span. Not really fighters, but spies and messengers able to co-ordinate attackers in distant areas.

Maybe flying between the wasteland and Haven had been a stretch after all. In the end, the bird was a living creature. Erol mentally shrugged.

He stepped away again when heavy steps were heard from below, and a bulky shadow made it inside. Without giving the cyborg a second look, the grunt lumbered over to the bird and sat down beside it.

Neither attempted to steady anybody.

The bird swayed back and forth, hunching beside the grunt while the bigger beast glared at it, cold eyes narrowed in concentration. The caws were harsh when they finally started up, emphasized by heavy flaps of the wings.

Erol waited, fingers of his proper hand rapping against a metallic upper arm.

The bird apparently had a lot to tell, and that realization made his lips curl slightly. Interesting.

Finally the messenger quieted down and slumped even more, while the grunt turned to the cyborg. Claws clicked as the big metal head dragged its hands over the floor, raising them to sweep at the air.

It did speak, a little. One word here and there; "that – us – it", simple words forced between hard lips, guttural and growling. The more natural gurgles and snarls made it out far more easily, but it made Erol roll his eyes in exasperation at first. Very soon, however, his interest was piqued again.

'That one… like us but hated… it there, big place, fought-'

He could make sense of it, but it was a tedious process.

Communication with the metal heads had been very irritating in the beginning, and it would never run smoothly. First of all they did not trust him initially and kept attacking, but sending them impulses from the Dark Makers always did the trick in subduing them. Just that it was the same process over and over with every damn tribe. Hence the main reason for his absence from the rest of the world during the last year.

Then, the whole language barrier. Some of the more intelligent critters could understand normal language enough to translate it to their kin, but their replies took ages. It all boiled down to a combination of hand motions, and broken sentences made up by the few words the creatures were able to pronounce. Most of it, however, came through grunts that went through a process similar to the Dark Maker's signals inside the cyborg's mind.

He did not know how it worked. Perhaps it was the dark eco, which tied them together. Erol could not have explained it if he had bothered to try. The only important thing was that he could understand enough, even if parts of it came out as simple mental images.

Ah… there was that part about names as well. The metal heads really did not understand the term. They acted like ants, a mass of bodies instead of individuals, born to kill anything different from them, and to obey whatever "the Leader" said. The Leader had had something the rest of them did not, but that was because he was the Leader.

It all boiled down to the fact that they could not simply say something like "Haven City", "the wasteland" or "Jak".

It had taken a while before Erol had managed to understand who they meant when they said "that one who is like us but hated". Then he had been amused by it.

He rather liked that allegory.

And while the process always did irritate him in its slow progression, this particular report proved to be more interesting by the word.

'Kill us to- keep small prey… itself. Rage… rage like- us but we hate it…'

"Really…" Erol murmured, more to himself than anything else.

The corners of his lips twisted, a sliver of teeth visible one moment and gone the next.

The metal heads remained confused. All they knew was that they hated "that one" and that they had lost another battle – but would keep fighting, because they were many, and "that" was alone. Unless there was that other one with it, "that which takes our skulls".

They wouldn't count the little one, ignoring it like everyone else had done.

Who cares about such a "small prey", after all?

… interesting.

'Did not go- inside… too far- come back?'

Erol straightened up as the grunt stopped and fell back, dark body waiting for new orders. The bird still slumped, exhausted to the brink of unconsciousness after its long flight.

With a couple of long, hard strides Erol was within reach and grabbed the thin neck. There was a snap and the bird lost all tension, tumbling forwards as it was released. Only the skull gem reached the ground, dryly tinkering across the floor.

The grunt grabbed the body as it fell, tearing off a wing with the help of its fangs. The chewing chomped in stride with Erol's pacing, further and further away.

He stopped by the large hole in the wall, gazing out at the crumbling city far below. From here, the screams could not be heard. But he could sense them, hundreds, thousands.

Screams that meant nothing.

He had to be in the Haven nest if he wanted to have full control of things, with the fortress gone. But he had waited for so long, and now, things looked deliciously possible. The mere chance was worth wasting time. His face twisted up in sick excitement, illuminated by the shine of the deadly plants and the flickering lights far below.

* * *

If sleep was an entity, it would be a fickle bastard.

What would be good about that was that if sleep was an entity, you could have whacked it over the head like it deserved.

Repeatedly.

The fickle bastard never, ever decided to get its work done when it was sorely desired.

Zem had been around for long enough to come to this conclusion many, many times. This, however, didn't do much to make him feel any better.

He glared at the darkness. It remained uncaring.

In the silence, the familiar sounds of Spargus trickled inside. The hissing wind, muted footsteps of running leaper lizards, and the voices of the people moving about. Normally he found it to be a comfort to know that somebody always was around outside, but it didn't help tonight.

Damn _kid_.

He growled. It never helped to put the blame on _him_ either. But if he would just stay out of sight everything would be flippin' dandy!

Stop. Deep breath.

_'Okay man,' he_ thought._ 'Sleep. Kleiver'll have yer scrawny neck if you fall asleep beneath a car tomorrow. He doesn't care, nobody ca-'_

Zem pinched his eyes shut.

But it was already too late.

_The hiss is gone, replaced by a silken edge. Fingertip drawn over a bruised jaw, eliciting a pathetic wince._

_"Nobody will come for you. Nobody knows where you are. You listening? Nobody cares. Nobody."_

_Silence, as the swollen eyelids slid shut and the body slumps._

_"He's out cold, commander."_

_"Wake him up." _

An arm and rough hands hissed against the mat as Zem bent, pressing his fingers against his face. He sat up, cursing loudly, trying to fill the silence for just a moment. But that could not help for long.

Still muttering curses he staggered to his feet and left the sleeping room. After a few deep draughts of water he blindly grabbed his gloves from the table and went outside. If he worked from two in the morning, he might get away with a few insults when he passed out later on…

* * *

'

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Jak.

My nightmares tend to start with two words Praxis spoke.

Once, I bit the bastard. Up until the roar as my teeth tore into flesh, I'd been so dizzy that I thought that it was just a guard that grabbed my chin.

I should have bitten harder.

The whole prison was silent when he ripped himself free, so silent even though he cursed. Nothing seemed to move, the guards, even Erol frozen in shock.

Even I stopped breathing, feeling the blood on my tongue.

It took him a while to get a hold of himself again, enough time for the world to recover somewhat. I was on my knees within a second, head pulled back by a rough, gloved hand in my hair.

Erol's tattooed face hovered above mine as he pressed a cold metal circle against my throat.

I remember lazily thinking that it was getting old. It was as if the drops of blood I had swallowed went straight to my brain, like a drug. I felt as if I drifted.

Then at least, I'd die with Praxis' blood on my lips.

But he was never one to make such decision, was he? No… never. You'd never just get to die if you pissed him off.

Clutching his hand, sole eye thin as a blade and rage coloring his face as blood dripped from his fingers onto the metallic floor – he did not order my execution. He had to make another decision.

"Break him."

Erol put the gun away.

He smiled.

End Introspection.


	8. Prelude to confrontation

Chapter 7, Into the Dark

'  
Begin Introspection. Serial code: Sig.  
'

I heard people mumble that Jak'd gotten thrown out, but I kinda thought it was just the latest craze o' the tabloids. Y'know, the ones that scream about people getting litters of half-metal heads, and 'bout a new savior every week. Often gals, for some reason, comin' straight outta Praxis' old prison.

Right.

I stopped listenin' to that bull ages ago. So I never checked up on it… feel like a moron now, sure. But who'd think it, them sacking the best man they've got, in war time? Never thought even the Haven tops were that thick.

Never thought I'd see my cherries in the arena. Though I might'a should've suspected something when Damas said he 'had somebody who needed a real challenge'. When did we last have a newbie in Spargus, eh? Once things started go ugly again Haven quit the kickin' and started foraging people. 'Cept for Golden Boy.

I don' get their thinking, but hey… better for us.

Was pissed first, thinking 'bout them bastards leaving him and Daxter to die, an' then us getting chewed out by Damas. I always thought the kid's too bloody young for all this shit. I dunno what Praxis did to piss him off so bad, but it can't've been good. Not with that alter ego act he's flailing 'round. I've… got my ideas, but I ain't askin'. I ain't gonna dig into shit he won't tell.

Not even for Damas.

Just walking through Haven you pick up people talkin' 'bout Jak. I often hear'em spouting bullshit.

Let's just say those don't talk no more for a while. Chili pepper's one'a the few I'd dare to let watch my back out there, so I'm gonna watch his.

Anyway, it pissed me off. I thought, Jak shouldn't hafta be out here. I know he could cope even before I saw him roll with the action, but I said it before… too much shit.

But he ain't just coping. He likes it.

Makes me grin real wide. He was flung out here to die, but he looks hella better these days. Not frownin' so much, and you see people waving at him in the streets here. We ain't scared'a him. There're the exes, sure, but they won't do anything if they wanna live. Hey, some'a them don't even mind him.

S'like Daxter, I s'pose. I don't get how Jak can stand keeping that lil' moron around all day, but it's plain day the rat's good to the kid.

And, uh, I like seeing cherry getting some hard earned appreciation, sure, but…

Damas is… uh, I don't say I'm buddying with him, but I've been reporting to him for years. And he's, well, he's acting weird. Jak's the first newcomer in a while, but I ain't sure if that's it. I ain't ever noticed Damas curious 'bout a newbie. He wants to know about Jak, had me tellin' what I knew.

Sure, Golden Boy's got skills you never saw, but… can't really crash my finger on it. S'like, something's on Damas' mind. He just seems, ah, concerned.

'nough to weird me out and then some.

'  
End Introspection.  
'

* * *

Daxter leant against the wall, one hand behind his head while he watched Jak doing sit-ups. He was talking about something half-heartedly, hardly listening to himself. The mouth just worked on its own without much input. The occasional scratch of Jak's feet against the floor seemed to make more sound than the ottsel.

Blue eyes glanced at him every now and again whenever Jak bent high enough to see the ottsel, eyebrows creeping lower and lower not only because of the strain. He had been going for a while, and it was starting to show in his breath and expression.

Fingers clasped under his neck, lifting the weight of his upper body towards his bent knees again and again. Sweat prickled his brow, and the dirty shirt looked like it clung to his chest more and more for every heave. Daxter, pondering the rising heat of the morning, held back a wince – but they could expect Sig to come in any moment, and therefore Jak kept his shirt on.

He did not want to answer questions that had been avoided thus far. Sig might be one of the few with the kind of tact required to shut up, but Jak didn't want even him to know.

Daxter's uninspired chatter dribbled down to a murmur.

Two hundred would do. Or whatever it was, he had lost count. Jak flopped down, letting out a nice, long gasp.

There was an instinctual wish of his body to let the aching arms spread out on either side of him, but he suppressed it. The mere thought of that position made him cringe. Instead he kept the hands beneath his head, rolling it to look at Daxter.

"What?" Jak said.

The ottsel looked up with a startled expression, prompting Jak to raise a quizzical eyebrow for emphasis.

"Whaddaya mean, what?" Daxter asked.

But the way that he crossed his arms and curled the tail around his feet gave him away. Jak tilted his head slightly.

There was only so much that Daxter could take from that look. And it wasn't much to begin with.

Sighing he rocked forwards and padded over on all fours, tail swishing behind him against the floor. Seemingly unconcerned with the light dampness of the cloth he climbed onto Jak's chest and sat down there, hands perched before him against the strong heartbeat.

"You cool?" he asked, slowly, hesitant.

Jak blinked. He didn't quite understand at first, but then that creeping feeling of dread made itself known through the exhaust he had brought upon himself. In a pang, the night returned to him and his brow sharply arched.

Daxter winced, tiny hands clenching in Jak's shirt.

But it passed, the green eyebrows drawn upwards again to the sound of a deep sigh. Small hands clenched harder, this time more due to Daxter's whole world rocking because of the breathing. He wanted to tell Jak not to just say that he should forget about it, but it wasn't his choice.

On his end, Jak debated how to handle it. Daxter getting protective was a rare oddity in itself, and he found himself rather amused by it. However, there wasn't enough amusement to cover the memories. He looked away for a moment, trying to get a grip of himself.

Daxter's voice in the darkness drifted back to his mind. Calming. There. Maybe lying about whether or not he did talk in his sleep, maybe honest. Maybe it did not matter, as long as Daxter was still making sure that his pal was okay when he couldn't do it on his own.

He looked back again, seeing the small eyes still staring at him. Daxter was tense, the tip of his tail twitching back and forth. Fuzzy ears drawn low, painfully tight against his skull. No… no, he had to smile. The dread lurked in Jak's mind like a dark beast, flitting back and forth and waiting for the chance to attack, with nothing to hold it back. It fed on the helpless expression before him.

With a shake of his head he pulled his hands free, cupping them behind Daxter's slumping shoulders. The ottsel perked up a little, confused.

There was no use trying to deny it or change the subject, it would only make those delicate ears even more tense.

"C'mere," Jak murmured, sitting up slowly so that Daxter slid into his hands.

"Uh?"

A slight smile pulled at the corners of his mouth at the sight of the bewildered expression. Jak reached up, tucking the fuzzy head beneath his chin. His own pulse had just begun to calm down and the tickle of fur and that cold nose upped it yet another notch. He tried to ignore it, closing his eyes again while idly scratching the back of Daxter's ears.

"Thanks, Dax."

There was a pause.

"Ye'll wreck your image if Sig sees you like this, bud."

But he smiled this time, playfully rubbing his nose against Jak's skin and grinning when the blonde grunted in protest. Jak relaxed, lightly pinching a small shoulder in revenge.

It wasn't "weakness" if only Daxter saw him.

He felt content like that, and it was a nice thing to notice that the ottsel didn't start to squirm after a moment. Instead, Daxter relaxed against the hands and throat, seemingly comfortable in the safe grip.

This changed rather drastically when there was a beeping sound from the floor, more precisely from the heap of boots, jet board and backpack. Jak leant forwards, barely having time to start reaching out before Daxter moved. Wary not to claw Jak's skin the ottsel scurried up and around on the big shoulder, grappling for the tunic as he went.

One moved boot later Jak grabbed the communicator and turned it over. The name flashing on the dark screen announced who it was before the blonde had even activated the mechanical chatterbox. A little surprised, he switched on the camera.

"Mornin' Sig," he said as a familiar face blipped onto the screen.

He had to straighten up further as Daxter's balance dangerously tipped in lack of a stable shoulder guard to hold on to.

"Heya, cherries," Sig replied.

Now, the veteran wastelander was probably one of the toughest guys the duo knew – and considering their existence, that wasn't an opinion easily thrown around. So, seeing Sig look slightly sheepish was rather disturbing.

He glanced away from the camera as to avoid eye contact, lips pressed tightly against each other.

While this was observed by Jak, Daxter still struggled not to fall off the shoulder he was perched upon. The tiny hands clutched about for a few panicked moments, before finally grabbing on to Jak's ear.

Finally Sig just shook his head and looked at the camera on his end.

"Listen cherries, something came up," he said, firmness properly lodged in his voice. "I gotta go to Haven. You clear on it?"

"They need help there?" Jak asked.

Without thinking, he shifted to stand. Daxter rolled his eyes.

"Nah, it's a one man job on my end," Sig said. He frowned. "But I gotta leave the big bugger inside that bigass hole to you."

Daxter nearly lost his grip, staring at Jak with pleading eyes. Noo, nonono…

"Sure," Jak said.

He grinned as Sig gave a hearty chuckle.

"That's what I wanna hear, chili pepper. Happy hunting."

"You too, Sig."

The screen went blank. Jak turned his head at an insistent tug of his sideburn, finding Daxter glaring at him.

"What?" the blonde innocently said.

Daxter slumped, groaning.

"You enjoy trying to scare me to death, don't ya?" he demanded and hopped onto the floor.

From down there, it was easier to use the full force of crossing his arms and scowling. Even when fuzzy and cute. He held up his fingers and counted down with wide motions.

"Lesse, there's been the ol' tomb, the metal head nest, more recently that lil' fly-o-matic romp, and that's not even counting all the other mini-near-deaths! And now you expect me to dwaddle into precursors knows what inhabited by _at least_ one oversized mega-insect? I'm seeing some serious tab abuse here, baby, and no tip in sight!"

He was only halfway serious, of course, because by now he was fully aware that nothing short of two broken legs would stop Jak from doing whatever the heck he had decided to do. But then the furry one also firmly believed in presenting his own integrity. Loudly.

However he hadn't quite expected the utter lack of a smirk, and neither its replacement – a hard narrowing of Jak's eyebrows. The lips that should have formed a cocky reassurement tightened instead, becoming a thin, pale line above the green goatee.

For a moment, the confusion clogged Daxter's throat – and he briefly wondered if he had gone too far, and that Jak would suggest he'd stay in Spargus instead of coming along. Suggest he should be left behind by the only person who really believed he was of any use.

He stared up at his grim friend, lips parting slightly.

Then he recalled the day before; the hard head smashing into his back, knocking the air out of his lungs in a choked shriek as he was flung forwards. And Jak's scream, and the roar.

He had tried not to think about that.

Schooling his face back into irritation and forcing his drooping ears straight, he crossed his arms and reinforced the glare.

"I hope you realize that I expect you to kill everything that even sounds like a metal head, buddy," he said.

A second passed. Then Jak nodded, reaching for his shoulder guard while he spoke.

"I will."

After that, his expression began to relax a little.

Daxter hopped onto the shoulder guard the moment it was in place.

'-'

The hard feet of the leaper lizard slapped the rocks and sand as it dashed down the city street, its rider hugging its sides with his knees and holding the reins tightly. In situations like this Daxter knew better than to hang on to the shoulder guard for dear life, and had instead opted to disappear down the great hero's tunic. Wedged between the tightly stretched cloth, the eco ring strap and the warm chest wasn't really too bad. The ride wasn't too crazy since Jak at least wasn't racing anybody, and the cloth caught the worst bumps. All in all, the ottsel was just peachy, rocked against Jak's heartbeat.

The dusky cocoon might not have smelled like roses, but at least it was dark enough to hide the state of that chest. Which, considering the situation, was a big plus. Jak didn't like people seeing what was behind the cloth, and Daxter didn't like to be "people seeing it".

Through the shirt he saw the shadow of a lower arm moments before it lightly pressed against him. Quickly Daxter shifted, holding his hands to the warm skin beside him to brace himself.

A particularly hard smack of feet from below, then silence for a second.

"Ouff!"

The smack of the lizard landing on the ground again was punctuated by Daxter's loud complaint. However, the support from Jak's arm and the time to prepare for the impact rendered the whole thing not half as bad as the ottsel made it sound.

Jak kept his arm still for a little while longer.

Now, Daxter wasn't too fond of the damn lizards after one of them had decided he was on the menu. But he had to admit that catching the things did have its thrill – and what made the lizards better than the jet board was that they could swerve to avoid suddenly appearing pedestrians who seemed to just sneak around waiting to be run into.

It would have felt even more handy-dandy if what needed avoidance had been still-at-work KGs, but you couldn't get everything.

The rocking came to a halt in a series of slowing slaps and a squeak from the lizard in protest to its reins being pulled. The last few swings came with a sliding sound and a thump of Jak's boots hitting the sand.

The world became visible in a flood of sunlight as the red scarf was pulled out of the way, and a hand came up to press at Daxter's cocoon from below. He shifted against it, letting it push him upwards until he could reach out of the collar of Jak's tunic and grab the shoulder guard. From there he easily climbed out and reclaimed his perch.

The market place of Spargus laid before them, rowdy citizens walking between the stands and baskets of supplies. The elderly warriors guarding the food from rats and insects divided the goods for the costumers as long as they could give proof of having a right to get the provisions. Small stone tablets with distinct markings for amount or weight traded hands in exchange for basic rations, artifacts, skull gems and other trading goods for additional supplies.

Spargus' people didn't have to starve, but a bit of restraint was necessary. Most of their food came from the ocean and to a lesser extent the desert itself, both foraging areas vulnerable to Nature's whims. An insistent storm lasting for too long could easily sap a weakened storage.

Goods traded for more food was accepted since the wastelanders traveling between other populated – and less sieged – areas could use them to acquire more supplies for Spargus.

Jak let go of his scarf, letting it flop down over his collarbones. He started walking, leaving the lizard behind but reaching out to give it a brief stroke over the head as he passed. The animal pushed its head into the hand with another squeak.

This only earned an annoyed look from Daxter. What was that, petting something that threw hungry looks at your best friend? He snorted.

Jak gave him an odd look, then caught the glare aimed at the lizard. Making the connection, the warrior smirked. This made Daxter change the direction of his glare.

"What? Oh, I see how it is, you just think me getting chewed on is comedy gold!" he started his oration.

The refreshing breeze from the ocean swept across this part of the town, holding back the worst assault of the sun. Jak walked with ease, now and then glancing at the ranting ottsel on his shoulder. Others threw annoyed looks at Daxter, but the blonde merely smirked a little.

He liked that voice.

It hung on the edge of his ears while he handed a few ration plates to a woman who gave him a package of dried lizard meat in return. As soon as he held it up, small hands grabbed it and with a soft rustling his backpack got a little heavier.

A few caranges were grabbed from another stand; hard-shelled fruits from cacti mainly growing in the shadows of the desert ruin and Spargus' walls. Getting through their armor was a chore, but the insides were surprisingly juicy. Not much taste to speak of, but it worked for hunger and thirst.

Daxter suspiciously knocked on the shells of every carange Jak handed him, to make sure they were fresh. Only when satisfied with the soft thuds did the ottsel drop the supplies into the bag.

While his partner was busy looking the other way and ranting about said trouble with getting to the interesting part of those well armored fruits, Jak got a slice of an imported melon and held it out of sight by his side.

"… and when you finally get there you're so exhausted that you can't even eat the damn thing! It's a defense system I tell you, they don't wanna be eaten. What, smoked fish _again_?"

The last comment came about due to the obvious route Jak was taking. He only got an idle glance for the complaint.

"It's bony and smells like Jinx' breath for cripes' sake! Can't you think about me for a change?"

Daxter grimaced, lolling his tongue out of his mouth. He only read the twitch of Jak's lips as amusement.

What he didn't notice was the slight lowering of eyelids.

"Really, you know I'm not made to eat those things in the first place! Well, second place. You know what I mean! They taste all- mmgh!"

Getting his face full of melon was a bit hard to miss, though. The complaints ceased immediately. On the other hand, the wet munching increased.

It sounded content enough.

Jak got the fish wrapped in a palm leaf and continued on his way through the market. Drops of melon juice dripped onto his shoulder guard now and then, but it didn't bother him much. The sun wouldn't even let it remain sticky for long.

A stone bench in the shadow of one of the buildings served a good purpose in the whole "breakfast" project. Daxter hopped off of Jak's shoulder and plopped down beside his pal, still munching away at the treat in his arms. It had so far smoothed most of the fur on his face and chest, but it didn't seem to worry him. Jak took note of that Daxter only seemed to chomp away at one half of the slice, however.

His lips twitched.

A smooth, smoky smell welled up as he ripped the leaf open, making his stomach growl. The white-brown strips of meat crumbled to slices as he gripped them, melting on his tongue moments later.

Daxter wrinkled his nose. Meat hadn't really tasted that good to him in the last three years, not since he got furry. Well, did he look like a carnivore? A certain lack of fangs, there.

He looked up when that smoky smell suddenly increased, glaring up at the hand and the crumbling pieces of fish it held too close to his face. With his cheeks stuffed with crisp sweetness, it was just hard to protest verbally.

"You can't just live on that."

Jak pointed at the melon with his little finger. After a loud chew and swallow, Daxter sighed.

Damn points.

"Well you can't just live on fish either," he replied.

Small hands held up the melon slice and reluctantly accepted the fish. Jak took what remained of the fruit and broke it in half, leaving the part that Daxter had been taking bites from on the bench. The ottsel grabbed it half a minute later, tearing back into it to get rid of the fish taste.

Jak took it easier, finishing off the fish before taking care of the melon in a few bites. Finally he sat back, licking his fingers.

Hearing a low mutter he looked down, noting that his sidekick was in the middle of trying to wipe his fur clean. The remains of the lemon shell laid discarded on the ground, forgotten in the attempts to get less sweet and sticky. Smirking slightly, Jak unhooked the flask from his belt. He gave a corner of his scarf a quick dab of water and offered it to Daxter. The small hands immediately grabbed the cloth and used it to clean himself from the worst onslaught of the melon juice.

"Well that's a lot better," Daxter said. "I gotta hand it to you, buddy, you get some bright ideas now and then."

With that he hopped onto Jak's shoulder, giving a content sigh.

The blonde snorted, bending down to pick up the melon shell…

… only to have it snatched away by a copper-colored blur that looked very much like a kangarat. He gazed after it for a moment, then shrugged and threw the other half of the shell to one of the small, dog-like creatures sneaking around looking for a bite. It seemed to like the gift.

Their leftovers done away with Jak stood up and headed up the street, keeping his eyes open for a leaper lizard to use. Daxter was talking again, creating a soothing, familiar buzz in the warm wind.

'-'

It was one hella deep hole, in Daxter's opinion. And he said so. Repeatedly.

Jak just waved his hand at him, squinting at the other side of the gap. It shouldn't be a problem. He looked up, making sure that the ceiling of the tunnel was high enough.

Yep.

He put the gear in reverse and backed out into the light again, building up the distance they would need to make it across the obstacle.

The trip to the cave had been refreshingly peaceful. They had seen clouds of sand in the distance now and again, but since the duo had not been attacked those clouds had apparently not been caused by marauders.

So far then, there were only metal heads on the menu.

Jak hit the brakes, satisfied with the position of the Dune Hopper. He was about to shift gears again, when Daxter's fuzzy ears slumped into sight.

"Oh, a-hunting we will go… yay," the ottsel grunted.

The small body sat curled up on the passenger seat, tail tense against his legs. Jak reached out and poked him, curling his big hand into a fist when Daxter looked up.

"Hey, I got your back," the blonde said.

To both their relief Daxter cracked a smile, then punched Jak's fist with his own tiny one.

"I know, big guy," the ottsel said. He bounced to his feet suddenly, posing as he pointed towards the cave. "Now move out!"

Smirking, Jak did a thumbs up and shifted the gears. The humming engine roared as he released pressure on the clutch, slamming the other foot into the gas to meet the raising pedal. The Hopper tore forwards, the movement sending Daxter tumbling onto the seat. He grabbed onto it as good as he could, bracing himself against it in anticipation of what was to come.

Jak's lips drew back from his teeth in a grin as he squeezed the wheel, crushing the button atop it. Metal groaned and the Hopper dipped, still moving forwards with the same speed.

The engine's roar echoed as dusk enveloped them and for a moment the wheels hissed over sandy rock. Then Jak released the button and the whole vehicle sprang into the air, sailing across the small ravine that had sealed the cavern earlier.

They hung in the air for a moment, then smashed into the ground with another screech of metal and a half-strangled yell from Daxter as the impact sent him flying upwards. He hit the seat, blinking against the stars dancing in front of his eyes. It had not hurt much, but those damn jumps were never pleasant. Now his whole front side ached.

The progress halted along with the engine as Jak hit the brakes again, turning his head.

"You okay?"

A small finger came up.

"Get on with it so we can go home!" Daxter told the seat.

Lips tilting upwards, Jak sent the Hopper rolling forwards again. After a few moments Daxter rolled over and sat up, rearranging himself on the seat so that he was comfortable while still able to gaze past the control board of the vehicle.

They droned onwards, further and further from the sunlight. The headlights of the Hopper cast its pool of enlightenment in front of them, making the floor visible within a safe radius. However, not too far inside the tunnel took a turn and darkness surrounded them on all sides but ahead.

Immediately a long shadow reached into Daxter's line of sight, striking against the artificial light splayed out in front of the car. He had already been pushing himself up to stand, and when the hand came within reach he grabbed it. It hoisted him up and away from the seat, dangling him past above the gear. He held on even when he first felt something rough and warm under the pads of his feet, letting Jak lower him further. Once the fuzzy one sat down on the big thigh, he let the hand go.

A few moments passed and he could see Jak's arm still moving above him, while the other hand tightly held on to the wheel. There was a whizzing sound and the light of the headlights briefly slid over dark metal and a bit of yellow. Then it was gone again with a thump as the morph gun landed on the empty seat, and Jak grabbed the wheel with both hands.

The tunnel stretched, slowly twisting deeper and further inside the mountain. It was thankfully wide enough at all times, leaving generous space for the Hopper on both sides.

As they proceeded, the air grew cooler, but at the same time heavier. A smell of mould whiffed against the warrior and ottsel, each time a little stronger than before. And now and again there was an even more unpleasant smell – sickly sweet and rancid at the same time, making Daxter's stomach roll. After a few assaults of the stench he grabbed hold of Jak's tunic, ripped the cloth free from being held stuck by the blonde's belt, and buried his face in it. While that cloth, once again, did not smell very nice after a few days in the desert, it was still nicer to his nose than the rotting remains of metal heads' leftover meals.

A few times he heard a crunching, cracking sound from beneath the Hoppers wheels, quite content in the knowledge that he didn't see the bones of the unlucky lunches. He still had vivid memories of the broken elf skulls he had caught sight of in the older, oh-so-popular metal head cave.

All of a sudden the headlights lost contact with the walls and the tunnel opened up in a cavern. Immediately it became easier to breathe, and Daxter cautiously lifted his face from Jak's tunic.

The stench was still there, but with this much empty air it didn't get enough space to rule supreme.

It was a huge cavern. Jak leant forwards and squinted, trying to estimate what they had ahead. But it was hard with the car's headlights eating up most of his vision, not leaving much else for the additional light to work with.

He could make out that there was some sunlight coming down from cracks in the ceiling far, far above, and patches of glowing moss shed an eerie, green glow over the rocks around them. By a broad assessment it seemed like this cave was just a little bigger than the main room in the other caverns, where he and Daxter had gone to hunt metal heads together with Sig. But this was new territory.

He sat back down and steered the Hopper further inside.

Nothing seemed to move, he heard nothing save for the engine's drone. The occasional gaze at Daxter gave no other tidings. Even if the ottsel turned his head back and forth, now back on his pal's shoulder, he gave no warning signs. It seemed safe to press on.

They continued deeper into the cave for a couple of minutes before another sound made itself known. Daxter immediately tensed and Jak's lips curled dangerously. The ground beneath them tipped upwards and the blond prepared to hit the brakes.

Seconds later the Hopper reached the top and gave the passengers a view of a basin, surrounded on all sides but one by huge bumps of smooth rock and sand. Almost straight ahead a ravine stretched out, the deep blackness gaping into obscurity. This cave seemed to like big holes.

More interesting than that were the three gigantic bodies at the bottom of the valley. Screeching roars tore at the air as the black eyes caught sight of the intruding vehicle above them, the light of the skull gems gleaming across natural panzer. The same armor clashed as the beasts reared up, a good thousand claw-legs furiously scratching empty air.

Jak's palm smashed into the big red button on the control panel before Daxter even hit the floor of the vehicle.

With a sharp whistling sound a dark ball shot from the Hopper's cannon, sailing through the air and-

Another roar, this one in pain as the bomb smashed into the underside of one of the metal-pedes and exploded. Fizzling fragments of armor and claws rained down as the beast rocked backwards, out of control tumbling over its companions and sending them all to the floor. Jak fired another shot as soon as the weapon panel flashed green again, the second bomb successfully exploding just behind the head of the wounded beast.

It reared up again blindly, out of control, crashing claws-first into the face of one companion. They wrestled about trying to get rid of each other, giving Jak time to aim more carefully.

In this confusion the third monster seemed to decide that a momentary withdrawal was a good tactic and blatantly tore away, skittering up the side of the valley. For the moment Jak decided to ignore it, as it seemed to head in another direction. Instead he fired another bomb, this time hitting the ground just before the metal-pedes.

The explosion rocked them both, and the one on the bottom twisted in pain, shrapnel getting into its eyes. The other tumbled away, flung towards the center of the valley. Both of them twitching in pain, the blinded metal head failed to see the edge of the gorge.

It shrieked when it felt the air beneath its claws, but it was already too late. Propelled by its own agonized throes it tipped, desperately scratching for purchase in the rocks to no avail.

Roaring, it fell, the echoing cry of rage ending in a violent, far off crash.

Daxter winced. Jak, meanwhile, intently studied the motions of the squirming survivor. It too rocked itself dangerously close to the gorge.

Just a little closer…

Another bomb went off and with one last screech the metal-pede rolled into the hungry gorge. Seconds later it fell silent.

Daxter slumped with a sigh of relief. At least until Jak backed up in order to turn towards the escape route of the last beast.

Right. Two down, one to go.

Greeeat.

But then again, those two had gone down with a very small amount of trouble thanks to that nifty hole. Hopefully the last one would be just as kind when it came to causing trouble.

'-'

About one hour later, it was however becoming glaringly apparent that such would not be the case. The last metal-pede kept fleeing, disappearing down tunnels in the floor and appearing in a whole other end of the giant cavern whenever the hero and sidekick got too close. And not even Jak was prepared to drop the Hopper into one of those escape routes.

As this very odd metal head behavior went on Daxter grew more nervous at the rate of Jak's decreasing patience.

The fuzzy one had a bad feeling that unless this got resolved otherwise, his blond pal may do something crazy to get a hold of that big bugger. And Daxter really did not feel so hot about that prospect.

This unpleasant suspicion got its confirmation soon enough. After they had rolled across rocks and rushed over the flatter areas of the cavern only to reach the top of another hill and see the tip of the metal-pede's tail disappear down a jagged circle of obscurity for the fifth time, Jak hit the brake.

He had done so all the other times the escapee had slipped out of their grasp, so that he could stand up slightly, looking around trying to locate the beast.

This time however, he sat down without having bothered to locate their prey. Instead of turning the Hopper around towards the rest of the cave he steered it forwards, closer to the wall.

Daxter's stomach felt like it was about the level of his knees. The bad feeling got some assurance to feed on.

Jak _was_ going to do something crazy.

Here and there in the cavern laid the odd, huge boulder which may have fallen from the ceiling sometime in the past. One such crunched the floor pretty close to the wall Jak was heading for. The warrior turned the wheel and headed for the gigantic stone, steering the Hopper in between it and the wall.

Up until Jak hit the brake and muttered his conclusion, Daxter had still managed to hold a small hope for sanity alive.

"It hears the engine."

Crap.

Jak turned the ignition and pulled out the key, putting it inside a pocket in his belt. He stood up, grabbing the morph gun from the passenger seat even as he moved.

"Uh, Jak?"

The booted feet hit the ground.

"Jak, buddy, I don't think this is a good idea!"

The blonde winced a bit at having the words hissed straight into his ear, returning the favor with a glare.

"You wanna stay here all night or come back again tomorrow?" he muttered.

Without even looking he turned the setting on the gun, setting it to Vulcan Fury. With a few whizzes the weapon folded outwards into a thicker shape, the yellow color changing to blue.

"And what if some beastie-babies _eat _our ride home while we're gone?" Daxter hissed.

"They don't do that," Jak said.

"Oh yeah? What about yesterday?"

But Daxter knew he and his arguments were doomed when Jak gave him one of those all-too confident, mildly insane smirks. Those ones reserved for really big guns, gliders, or plans no sane person would ever call "interesting"… but Jak did.

"Sig knows where we are," Jak said.

Not quite grinning like a psychotic loon, that face was only used when charging into final battles against metal head leaders. However, the prospect of spending a night or two stranded in a cave – full of who knew how many beasts – depending on when help would arrive… it seemed Jak thought it was sort of similar.

Daxter had to agree.

This did in no way make him feel any better about it.

"Yeah right, Sig knows where we are but he's out of town! And Kleiver will be reeeal happy if he gets to have us work for another car, you know the lardy tusker'll screw up that infected face of his in joy. And then we're cooked. Or rather _I'm_ cooked, thankyouverymuch!"

Jak had already left the car behind and started walking, cautiously following the wall but staying several feet away from it in case something hid in the shadowed cracks. He glanced at Daxter at the last complaints, giving a casual shrug. The movement swung the ottsel's perch, forcing him to grab hold of Jak's hair and goggle strap to maintain his balance. It shut him up for a moment, enough to let the blond speak up.

"I'll just give him a few artifacts and hunt marauders for him," Jak muttered.

Daxter groaned and crouched down on the shoulder guard. He would have liked to continue his rant, but before he could give Jak a second helping of complaints there was a distant rumble.

A huge shadow moved beyond the hills on the other side of the cave. Daxter smacked his mouth tightly shut. Jak rolled his eyes at the distance they had to cross, but there was nothing to do. He set off, jogging as silently as possible across the broken landscape of rocks and sand. He would have used the jet board, but not in a place where something could leap at him suddenly. As long as he could hold the gun he would be able to counter.

The sound of sand crushed and the dry slap of Jak's boots against stone echoed in the wind's hollow hum far above them. By now the warrior's eyes had grown so well accustomed to the dim light that he easily saw all the possible natural traps in the ground. The stretches of glowing moss added to the weak tendrils of light from the faraway ceiling didn't exactly make it light as day, but it was enough.

He reached the edge of the high ground, gazing across the valley where the metal-pedes had rested before. The gorge stretched off to the left, a jutted blackness against the pale gray-green of the cliffs. Moss clung to the edges here and there, trying to illuminate the darkness but never reaching far enough.

Even now that he took a moment to survey it, Jak could only vaguely see where the ravine ended. It was only a fleeting thought before he returned to the matter at hand.

He may go down in the valley or walk around it. The latter would obviously take a lot longer, maybe three times so. By the time he got around the basin, the metal-pede may have sneaked off through another tunnel and he would have to start over.

On the other hand, going through the valley was a tactical abhorrence, as Samos certainly would put it. Or tactical bullshit, coming from Torn.

Damas would probably not approve of it either.

Jak started along the edge of the valley, but moving just a few paces to the side he noted that the hill on the other side wasn't as tall as he had thought from the beginning. He may very well hear the metal-pede in time to charge his gun in case it decided to attack.

He pondered it for a second longer.

Nothing even hinted at that the huge beast had noted their presence, as it had not made a sound for a while. With all the noise it had proven to make during the hunt, a successful sneak attack would be impossible for it to pull off.

And Daxter wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

Yeah.

Jak started downwards, even as he moved turning the morph gun slightly so that he could alter its setting again. The gun clicked and whizzed once more, its muzzle taking the shape of a miniature metal head's skull as the weapon changed from a Vulcan to Peace Maker. Satisfied with that Jak continued towards the lower area, walking cautiously while scanning the high ground ahead.

He touched down and glanced at Daxter. The ottsel had almost curled into a ball, nervously looking around. A rough cheek brushed a tense, fuzzy shoulder and Daxter turned to Jak. The small body relaxed a little at the smile, the silent reassurement that the job would be done and over with soon.

They would just finish off the main danger and then head back, safe and sound.

Daxter nodded slightly. Satisfied with that Jak straightened up and headed further into the valley.

He didn't walk too close to the gorge, there was no telling if something with an ability to fly was hiding down there. Still, the distance between the void and the hills seemed smaller than he had thought. The dim light really did play games with his vision. Frowning slightly Jak went on.

The wind was louder here, howling through the depth beside them. Pieces of shattered metal-pede armor laid scattered across the ground, Jak taking care to avoid the larger pieces. They could be really slippery, and that was the last thing he felt like dealing with.

It seemed like they would get to the other side of the area without any surprises.

But things happened so fast all of a sudden. One moment Daxter was simply gripping Jak's shoulder guard, in the next he felt all the hairs on his neck rise up like forest. A sixth animal sense screeched-

He gasped, trying to get air enough to warn Jak, but never got that far. There was a hard sound just beside his fuzzy elbow and Jak staggered, a surprised groan of pain fading from his lips as his eyes rolled upwards. The morph gun slipped from nerveless fingers and the hero crumbled.

Daxter shrieked, clumsily leaping forwards – but brought off balance by the fall, he hit the ground and rolled gracelessly. Disoriented only for a moment, he leapt to his feet as soon as he could stand. Coughing, he tried to wipe the drifting sand from his streaming eyes.

Jak laid on the ground, unmoving. Eyes closed, the side of his face heavy against the cold stone and dust. The morph gun had fallen beside him.

Panic shot from the depth of Daxter's gut, and he dashed forwards.

Claws scraped the stones beneath him as he skittered to a halt, stumbling up to Jak's face. Small hands collided with the shoulder guard as Daxter tried to stop, but there was no reaction from the warrior.

A stream of warm breath tickled the fine hairs on the furry stomach as the ottsel spun around, granting him a brief respite – Jak was alive.

He reached out, about to put his hands on a dirty cheek. But just as he did, a shadow fell over the skin and covered the shade of the thin arms.

The hairs on Daxter's neck had not relaxed yet.

Shadows… shadows were bad. He had learnt that very early in his life.

Especially big shadows.

And the only thing worse than a big shadow, is the thing that's making it.

Ears pressed flat against his skull, Daxter turned his head.

* * *

'  
Begin Introspection. Serial code: Unknown.  
'

Hello, little one. I think I'll play with you today.

'  
End Introspection.  
'


	9. Confrontation

Chapter 8, In Metal Hands

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Daxter.

I'm gonna die. Shit shit shit shit sweetmerciful GODS I'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadie! Oh no no no Jak goodgodsplease don'tlethimkillhim not Jak not like this!

End Introspection.

* * *

The cavern was silent apart from the whistling of the distant desert wind finding its way into the hollows by the entrance. Silence, deafening in its force, which only grew as the seconds slipped by between those who waited.

An already thundering pulse raced at the first movement, a voice wanting to scream but unable to form the sound.

A grunt, and cloth rustled against the sand and pebbles – unaware, ignorant of how the darkness stretched out around him, not seeing the moving metal.

Jak groaned, reaching for his pounding head. The fingers briefly touched the burning area where he had been hit, but the touch only managed to send bolts of lightning through his head and he winced, quickly removing his hand.

What the hell…?

Disoriented, he heaved himself up on all four, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. His vision swam even as he tried to focus on the pebbles beneath him. Daxter must have hit his head or something since he was not there to slap his big pal back into consciou-

"Slept well, Jak?"

Head snapped up, sight instantly clearing at the vision of red against the dusk of the cavern. The greenish light of the moss turned the crimson into a dirty brown, but there was never any question of who it was.

Erol smiled, his metallic body frame seated with unsettling ease on a rock in a little distance, the dark void of the gorge a backdrop. Before the curse had even passed his lips Jak had grabbed the morph gun from the ground beside him and was back on his feet, cold barrel aimed straight at the steel chest- and froze, because there was something missing.

Narrowing blue eyes never moved, but their corners took in the whole scene before the blond. Searching, with a growing sense of dread, for the faintest speck of orange.

Until Erol's hand emerged from behind his goliath leg, a desperate hope still managed to hang on inside Jak's chest. But at the sight of a pair of wide open, frightened eyes, the last glimmer of hope withered.

"Dax-!"

The gasp slipped out before he could stop himself, and then it was too late. Though he never changed his stance the slightest, Jak flinched.

And the smile widened into a leer.

"Daxter, is it…" Erol said, slowly as if he was tasting the name.

But from the look on his face, it was nothing new to him. The situation was a mere test, and he was fond of the results so far.

Daxter hung in the metallic grip enclosed around most of his body, his tail straight as a poker and tiny paws clutching the cold thumb digging into his soft fur. He looked far smaller than usual, an insignificant fragment of orange against darkness and sickly green reflected in smooth steel. In the distance Jak could not see it, but he still knew that every last hair on his friend stood straight. And as their blue gazes met, the blonde saw the glistening of salty water smoothening the fur of Daxter's face. With the current state of the ottsel's mind he might not even be aware of the tears, but Jak noticed.

Shit.

Jak could not move, finger tightening on the trigger but every nerve in his body knowing that the slow Peace Maker never would be able to fire before those fingers crushed Daxter's brittle ribcage. Even if it could, the ottsel would be caught in the blast. And Erol knew that.

Jak realized that in this situation he might as well have been unarmed – and still he could not let his finger relax. He did not have the mind to do it, could not make his brain take it in and make the command.

It did not matter, did it? If he moved, or if he tried to attack-

"_Sometimes you face your enemy head on…"_

Jak clenched his teeth.

The first move was not his to make, not if he wanted to have the slightest chance to keep Daxter alive.

Erol tilted his head slightly, studying the frozen hero. The eyes shifted, glance touched the rigid Daxter before returning to the blonde.

"I must admit that I'm a bit curious," the cyborg said. "Your pet apparently means a lot to you."

He could have tried to deny it in an attempt to ensure Daxter's safety, make him unimportant… but it was too late for that, far too late. Unmoving, Jak spoke the only thing that came to mind, knowing it might just as well slam the trap shut even harder. Words hissed through teeth, bloodless lips harshly forming the sounds.

"Put him down, Erol. He's not a threat."

With a tsk, the mechanical head shook. Its owner never stopped watching the bigger prey this time.

"You can do better than that," Erol said.

Though he had not thought it possible, Jak tensed further. He had the attention, which was a start, but how to go from there to the point where he would have Daxter safely within reach again… that he did not quite know. For the moment all he could do was follow the lead given until he could strike back. Had to keep trying.

"It's me you want. Let him go."

A sharp chuckle.

"How cliché…" Erol said. "But you almost make it justice. Almost."

The weight was on the last word, accompanied by a sharp clicking.

"No-!"

Jak stepped forwards without thinking, but froze as Erol smiled at him.

The green glow caressed its way across two new pieces of metal, a pair of blades emerging from the base of Erol's thumb and pointing finger. Daxter's eyes widened and he squirmed, but the grip of him was too tight.

"He-hey- p-personal space, toy man…!"

The words, highpitched and broken by stutters could do nothing for the situation. They reached Jak's ears, but hardly made sense. He could only meet the artificial gaze set on him.

Erol's smile dropped, and as he spoke it was with a businesslike tone.

"Listen, Jak, I really don't have time for this," he said. "If you don't make it worthwhile, I'll just snip this little neck and be off."

He leant towards the trembling Daxter, watching him from the corner of half-lidded eyes.

"They say the head keeps living for a little while after decapitation, you know…" the cyborg said.

His leer cruelly twisted as the ottsel squeaked, the normal flow of words stuck within the small chest. The distraction was only so brief, not more than half a moment – Jak saw the chance slip away. He was far too far away, and Erol would have no problem to move far too quickly. Even his Light powers could not help at this distance.

Plan B. Or rather, Z.

"Erol!"

"Hmm?"

Metallic and fuzzy heads alike turned towards Jak at the call.

'Forget about him, look at me, look at me…'

Those simplistic thoughts remained lonely in the blonde's mind as he changed the grip of his morph gun, turning it horizontally across his chest. He kept his glare steadily on Erol even as a finger reached for a button.

Daxter's breath caught in his throat and he wanted to shake his head, scream at Jak to get a grip and do his job. But he couldn't, because the blades were choking him, Jak's movements were choking him.

Fingertip pressed down, and Erol tilted his head as the morph gun folded itself up in Jak's hands. A moment later the weapon hit the ground with a dull clank that echoed through the silence like a funeral bell.

"… _and sometimes… you wait until his weakness is revealed." _

As Jak kicked the morph gun away and raised both hands to hover on either side of his head he could only hope that Damas had not given a bad piece of advice. His jaw didn't move as he spoke.

"I'm not going to move."

"You aren't, now?"

Gears gave small screeches as the cyborg stood and raised his massive left "hand". Casually, experimentally – just testing this new situation.

Jak faced the smooth eye of the laser cannon, unmoving.

Daxter wanted to scream.

Metal jaw grinded as Erol chuckled, the chokes of laughter spiraling down into a demented giggle. He reveled in the control, razor sharp blades on Daxter's neck and laser cannon aimed straight at Jak's chest.

Blue eyes met in the instant that the cyborg focused on neither friend, just the faintest narrowing of a green eyebrow relaying enough of a message – '_Help_ _me out here!' _

A gulp, but the silent request finally unlocked Daxter's tongue and he braved the sharp edges by his throat to turn his head and glare at the amused one.

"Uh-uhm, come on ya stingy tin can, not even a teensy weensy little last wish?" he asked, hoarsely.

The giggle ended, but the smirk remained.

"I don't really see any reason for that," Erol said.

Daxter chewed on his fuzzy lip, wild eyes flying between the ripped, metallic visage of his captor and Jak's motionless face. He swallowed hard, but in the next second his little claws scraped the chilly steel supporting his small body.

"Oh sheez, you've gotta be the lousiest villain yet!" he exclaimed, "don't they ever teach any of you in Psycho High to gloat properly anymore?"

The voice broke, but he still got the words out.

Erol's artificial eyes rolled in their cold sockets, a static sigh rising from the speakers in his throat.

"Oh fine," the cyborg drawled, "give me some last words to hold dear, will you?"

"Cheapskate ass- guh!"

Daxter hissed as the razor blade nicked a few hairs from his neck. Jak's fingers twitched, but he stayed where he was.

"Words will be just fine."

Erol studied Jak, lips curling upwards.

"It's poetic justice."

For just the briefest moment it seemed as if he would continue, and a spasm twitched Jak's brow. Not that. _Not that_!

But Erol remained silent, waiting without mentioning the first word to leave a young prisoner's lips. This time Daxter was spared from hearing it.

Jak would have wanted to take in a shuddering breath of relief, but the situation hardly allowed such luxuries. But it was a small victory, if nothing else.

Looking at Daxter and feeling all the things he had never said cropping up inside his mind, not so many of them because he knew his best friend too well to keep a lot of things away – but heavy, heavy things that weighed down and screamed to be spoken in case this really was it-

No. This would not be it, not until he took his last breath. Jak squared his jaw, pushing the fears away. He would walk out of this too, with Daxter safely on his shoulder.

Those things were too important to be said in front of Erol. He did not deserve to hear them.

Jak ignored the screaming, and reached for something else, something to get the smirking cyborg's attention for another few moments. Anything to win time for that precious opportunity that just had to come – Jak harbored no hope that Erol would simply drop Daxter and let him scurry away, even with the blond's suffering as a prize.

Cold, blue eyes looked straight into the waiting gaze of the opponent.

"What the hell were you smoking on the race?" Jak asked.

Erol raised what would have been an eyebrow, had any hair been present.

"Hmm?" he said.

"That 'I want you' crap. I can't make anyone who heard it drop it."

The smirk changed a little, becoming more amused than cruel for just the briefest moment.

"Ah, that. I meant 'I want to see you crushed in the most pathetic way', actually."

He paused for a moment, watching Jak with the faintest smile on his hard lips.

"Didn't you know that?"

"Oh thanks a lot!" Daxter snarled.

With an uncanny disrespect for the morbid he plonked an elbow onto the flat side of one of the blades threatening his neck. He proceeded to lean his small cheek on a fist, glaring up at the uncaring face above him.

"That's just what, nine, ten extra words! What were you saving them for, trashcan-on-legs?" he asked. "You have any idea how long I've been fretting about that line?"

Never once did Erol blink. Now if he had needed to, and still had such inclinations, he might still not have done so.

"Three-hundred and ninety-two days, seven hours, thirty-six minutes and oh… fifteen seconds."

He gave a mirthless smile.

"But who's counting?"

There was a brief pause.

"Okay," Daxter finally said, "now you're just sad."

"Sad?"

Erol snorted, and Daxter eeped as the cold fingertips dug into his fur.

"Sad is counting the seconds since my, hah, death."

The continuation hung in the air for a moment before Erol swung slightly on his mechanical legs, shaking his head.

"Then it's three-hundred and ninety-two days, seven hours, twenty-nine minutes and forty-three seconds. But, whatever…"

He feigned a deep sigh and set his eyes on Jak again, cold eyelids lowering a little.

"Ah… it's too bad…"

The man and the ottsel watched him, silence stretching and he let them be grilled for a few more seconds, savoring the tension. Pleasure like this was so hard to come by for one such as him, but now… now Erol had to admit that he almost could remember how it felt to be alive.

Truly, too bad…

He studied Jak, making sure every little detail was recorded so that he would be able to replay the look on the blonde's face later on. Every little motion as the lips drew back from the teeth, every speck of red prickling his skin, every shallow intake of air, the tension of his throat almost allowing the thundering pulse to become visible.

"Trust me, Jak, I would love to take you with me… for old times' sake," Erol said.

His lips twitched in delight at the flinch his words caused.

Beautiful.

He shook his head, just the slightest bit of honest regret in his voice.

"But I'm afraid that I know myself too well," he said. "I'm on a tight schedule and you'd be a far too distracting toy. I have to think about the greater good."

Daxter's claws screeched against a metallic finger.

"Let him go," Jak said.

Soft voice, somewhere between a whisper and a growl.

A pause.

Then Erol smiled, and there was a clicking as he withdrew the blades from the small neck. Daxter held his breath – Jak's eyebrows twitched, doubtful.

"Ah well…"

The laser's lens flared up together with the sharp hissing announcing the surge of power, the deadly force within its metal womb building up for a shot.

"I suppose you've been a good enough boy, Jak. Wouldn't want you to think ill of me."

Jak saw it coming, every muscle in his body tensing for the leap. Daxter felt it coming and clutched the smooth finger harder. But it did not help.

Smile unwavering, Erol pulled back and flung out his hand, sending the ottsel's small body flying forwards- and to the side, towards the hungry void of the gorge.

Jak did not curse, he had no time for that. He catapulted himself forwards, the world bending and slowing around him as his entire body shimmered, light covering him. He threw himself, dashed, commanding time itself to slow to let him reach those tiny hands reaching for him – they were so far away, too far away but he could make it, could save everything if the light only was strong enough to carry him quicker than gravity.

His hands reached out and for the faintest moment, too short even in Jak's state of seeing the world in slow-motion, the small blue eyes lit up with hope.

Then his world rocked and intense heat seared his skin as he fell, flung in the other direction by the power of a missed shot. He sailed, hung in the air, a doll on a string waiting for the last thread to be cut before it was too late, the coarse sound of the explosion clawing and clawing at his ears – and behind it, a scream.

He hit the ground, a mix of sand and saliva on his lips as he rolled and watched, seeing every detail, every strand of hair – ears, eyes, nose, mouth, arms, hands, body, legs, paws, tail, swallowed whole by the darkness, stretched out before him for eternity.

The light died and the world sped up.

Jak heard his own scream, or maybe it was Daxter's. He didn't know. All he saw was the small orange body disappearing into the darkness of the chasm, passing the edge with a couple of feet that might as well have been yards.

He knew that he screamed, but it was brief because he heard the hissing sound behind him, felt Erol's smile and he acted. Jak ducked and rolled away, feet scraping against the floor, slipping on the pebbles as he tried to get up before the fizzling of the cannon reached its peak- his body was just reacting without a single thought making it through his brain. He saw the crackling glow of the cannon- couldn't remember why that was important, didn't care.

Somewhere, far down he knew that impending death normally would be really, really crucial, but… it did not seem like a factor anymore. The only thing that did matter was to get within reach and _tear the bastard's head off_ and even if he would get a blast of pure energy straight in the face it wouldn't matter as long as-

The darkness roared and he let it come, ripping through his body and leaving just the urge to kill, kill and drink blood.

Erol smirked as the young man howled, claws sprouting from his nails and horns from his forehead. The beast staggered forwards, never flinching away from the weapon aimed straight at it.

Foolish brute.

Jak dashed, arms stretched out in front of him, oblivious to and uncaring about the fact that the laser was ready to fire. Erol smiled almost fondly as the command to fire zipped through his circuits.

Good bye, pest.

There was a drawn-out yelp, and something went wrong. A blur of light colors flew past in the corner of Erol's camera lenses and the joints of his left leg buckled as something latched onto it and pulled.

"You touch him an' I swear I'm gonna-"

The pathetic, wheezing gasp disappeared in Jak's roar and Erol's enraged shriek as even the weak pull stimulated his knee so much that his entire body swung just when the cannon went off. The beam of energy crackled past the beast's ear one third of a second before he body slammed the cyborg, claws hard as diamonds slitting red coating and the metal beneath.

**Warning.** **External armor damaged. Backup circuits damaged. Internal circuits functional. Weapons operational.**

There was a cry of pain from the whiny voice as the weight of Erol's leg crushed down on the frail arms. The distraction fled instinctively to avoid being snapped in half while the two combatants slid several feet away by Jak's force.

The claws ripped out of the armor and came down again, one set on the metallic chest and one on the shoulder joint. Metal screamed.

**Warning.** **External armor damaged. Connection between main unit and cannon damaged. **

Erol swore, grappling for Jak's throat with the blades on his hand. But the beast reared up out of reach, a chop from the side knocking the cold arm out of control just long enough for the pale hand to slam down and pin the artificial limb against the ground.

Spewing curses, the cyborg bent one leg and rammed it into Jak's chest as the beast was distracted by the catch. With a roar the dark warrior was flung onto his back, but he scrambled to his feet at the same speed as Erol.

**Warning.** **Cannon not operational. Upper body critically damaged. Warning. Backup eco reserves activated to ensure continued efficiency. Immediate repairs required to ensure sustention of biomechanical functions. **

Gritting his teeth Erol stepped backwards, watching every move that Jak made. The beast crouched, moving his feet in preparation for another attack.

**Connection between main unit and upper body operational.** **Engaging rockets.**

"Tch!"

Dark eco flared and set off the engines in Erol's back, the rockets fastened on what would have been his shoulder blades filling up with pure force as he rose from the ground and soared towards the cavern ceiling. Keeping his eyes on the beast below he saw the attack coming and easily avoided the ball of dark lightning hurled towards him.

"This isn't over, Jak!"

His eyes rolled to take a record of the other creature left on the ground, spiking a small remnant of curiosity. But he did not have time, and though his pride throbbed in pain Erol withdrew, flying further and further into the darkness until he disappeared. This was not the end.

Seconds passed, trickling away after the cyborg disappeared in the dusky distance.

Nothing happened.

Gone.

Safe.

Jak fell to his knees, gasping and choking on his own breath as the claws and horns withdrew, his skin smoothening into the warm tan forced onto him by the desert sun. Drawing back his tongue from the shrinking fangs he turned around, trying to make sense of everything.

Something had happened, it had just been too quick- and he had thought that he had heard Daxter…

Jak stopped moving. Stopped breathing.

Because Daxter was there, alive, sitting on the ground a few yards away, holding a hand to his head and squinting.

He grimaced and gave Jak a slightly drowsy look, eyes narrowed in discontent even though the lips were stretched in relief. He let out a loud sigh and wrinkled his nose.

"_Man_, that stung! I _told you_ we shouldn't have left the car and you listened…"

Daxter fell silent and slowly blinked. The metaphoric wheels inside his head felt a little metaphorically rusty, but they screeched into action anyway. The force to push them came from the weight of knowledge that seriously weird crap was going on.

Shouldn't he be, like, a red little splat on the bottom of that big hole, for starters? He could clearly remember hitting something and then seeing nothing but- uuh, hadn't that been the light at the end of the tunnel?

For some reason it felt a bit difficult to speak, something was in the way for his upper lip. And he really did not feel that good, and the world was spinning a bit… just a teensy little bit…

What was he thinking about again? Oh yeah… the words he said, they sounded similar to something he had heard before. And the look on Jak's face seemed eerily familiar too. That flabbergasted, gaping thing he did.

Hello, déjà vu. Haven't we met before?

"Whaaat?" Daxter drawled, voice coming out in a tense wheeze.

Speaking was obviously not a good idea. His brain wanted every last bit of that precious oxygen all to itself, or it would refuse to function sufficiently. Actually, there was that rising amount of dizziness that it should bother about and the pain in the arm that Erol had almost broken, and the extreme cold and- oh what the heck, a temporary complete shutdown of consciousness would probably solve most of that.

Such was the logical conclusion of Daxter's brain, strengthened by the knowledge that hey, Jak was there after all. He could deal with the rest even without the guidance of his fuzzy sidekick, at least this once, right?

Right. Goodnight.

And so Daxter's eyes rolled upwards and he fell over on the ground. Even that felt strange, but he was gone before he could figure out why.

The normal thing to do would have been to scoop Daxter up against his chest and dash towards the nearest means of fixing him up, but Jak found himself with an acute case of brain freeze. It took several seconds before he even managed to pick himself up and half walk, half crawl over to his fallen friend.

A hand reached out and a couple of fingertips brushed the air above a shimmering lump on the ground beside Daxter's elbow. The light flourished, spinning around before swirling into Jak's hand. His skin tingled and for a moment the blood veins beneath gently glowed.

With the added light, the darkness in his mind sunk back like a black tide. It helped to clear his mind, but only from the insistent wish to rip something apart. Nothing to do for the feeling of utter dumbfoundedness.

Finally he dragged himself over to the cleft where Daxter had fallen in, gazing down at the abyss.

There actually was a plateau not too far down, sticking out of the wall. From the looks of it though, it had been completely overgrown with moss and a net of spidery cavern grass, them being so dark that the platform had been hidden in the poor illumination. They must have been feeding on what was beneath.

In fact, the plateau seemed to be rather hollow by its base, and Daxter must have ripped through the plant life as he fell. Now a sweet, pure glow shone through the hole in the vegetation. A few drops of it had been splashed out of the pool by the furry impact, slipping towards the bottom of the abyss. Jak idly played with the thought that there might be a whole lake of the stuff inside the mountain, and it had caressed its way out on that plateau. In a few years, maybe it would break through the platform completely, and light would pour down into the blackness and evaporate it.

He was probably in shock, he concluded. That would explain the lightheadedness.

He turned around and looked at his friend again.

Yes, just the same.

The inclination to go down in hysterics was almost too tempting, but luckily he had never been prone to such things. Instead he found himself moving back to the small body sprawled on the ground.

Hand reached out again, fingertips hovering in the air before lowering, brushing against something more solid this time. Blonde, on the verge of golden threads of hair bent and slid between Jak's fingers, the color against his skin darkening and deepening into a warm red as he moved his hand upwards.

He tilted his head slowly, studying the trace of his thumb as it moved to a cheek and stroke the soft, warm skin, finally coming to rest on the two front teeth protruding from beneath the upper lip.

Pebbles and sand rattled as Jak heavily sat back, skin still tickling from the contact he was so very unused to.

Drops of pure white eco still remained on the very elf-like body that lay on the ground like a thrown away rag doll.

* * *

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Jak.

Oh my god.

End Introspection.


	10. Return

_Author's note: Sorry for the wait, but here's a monster of a chapter for your trouble. Love ya'll!_

Chapter 9, Marks of the Past

'

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Samos the Sage.

'

There will come a day, and I fear it will be sooner than later… when Jak doesn't come back to Haven. Not because he dies trying, but because he will choose not to. He does not speak much of the wasteland when he is with us, but one single phrase was enough to tell me everything. He told Daxter at one point, "let's go back". That was all I needed, because I can read Jak well enough to tell.

His tone was not very eager, but it only took one look on his face, the way his eyebrows rose just the slightest and the scowl eased. He has found a home in the very place that was supposed to be his grave.

But even if he is happy there, it's not in him, not in anybody, to forgive the ones that let him be thrown out. Not completely. Jak will fight for us because he still cares, he cannot turn his back on us and let us die. Such things are not in his nature. Yet it is undeniable that he did not make it out unscathed. He has been let down so many times by us, by this city, that I believe that this might have been the last shove he could deal with. Even if he would say it loud, "I forgive you", it would not be true. And we all know it. Still, we have all tried to make it up for him, ever since he found a way back to Haven. I can assure you that it has not gone unnoticed, as Daxter has been very pleased to make his usual idiotic comments about it.

We have to make it up for him somehow, it is a feeling all of us share. Onin, Pecker and I have the ability to do something more than the others, and we are carefully reaching out – Ashelin may have been able to help, but due to the delicate matter of this project and her already pressed situation, I suggested she stays out of it.

For me, it is not only a matter of repenting my failure to save Jak from being exiled. It goes far, far further back, three years ago and more.

Time… does not move in a perfect circle. My past in Haven, my own memories of the battle against Metal Kor from when I was younger… those things do not match with what happened in this timeline. I recall a far more desperate battle, a more frightening one.

In _my_ past, we did not have a Jak to save us. The grown hero simply did not exist, for he had never been sent back in time to grow strong and then return.

What we had, was a child whom a blind seer had promised could change history itself to prevent our annihilation.

Perhaps we started a time loop, as the child of this time was successfully sent through the precursor ring as well. I can only pray that this loop is stable, that my past is indeed merged with this happier one.

The sacrifices we made in my past were too terrible. For my own sanity I must believe they have been undone. Perhaps I am still left with the memory because I let the innocent child be sacrificed as well.

I could have warned him, told him that we may come to a strange place. Told him to flee if he saw men in red armor.

Yes indeed, the Krimzon Guard under Baron Praxis' reign did patrol the Haven I recall as well.

Why then, did I not warn Jak? I cannot make excuses, it was neglect and foolishness on my part, and I will surely be made to pay further for it. While I did know that Praxis was a cruel man, I had no concept of the inhuman treatment he put Jak through for two long years.

Perhaps I did not realize the lengths at which that man was willing to go, but on the other hand… how could I know that he would have information of Jak's abilities? But no, I have no right to excuse myself.

Still, the last I saw of Praxis in my time… gave me a bit of hope, if that is the word, that he may not be the tyrant completely blind to people's suffering, the man we had thought him to be. It is… difficult to keep hating a man, when he once was your enemy but in different times was forced into an alliance.

We were losing, all of us were. And in those desperate times an alliance was formed between tyrant, rebels, and betrayed. All for that one hope in a child whom the precursors had faith in.

It was a long, agonizing process getting everyone to agree, nothing else can be claimed.

Yet somehow in the end, we fought our way into the metal head nest, all of us – Krimzon Guards, Undergrounders, wastelanders and lurkers alike. It was not a winning battle, but the light of the precursor ring drove us onwards. Even me, an old man and aspiring sage, clutching an unconscious child in my arms.

The child was always silent, a fear of him giving himself away was not why we had drugged him into unconsciousness. Many men died there. Many dear men. It is not a sight for such young eyes.

Still now, I recall activating the rift rider in a haze of shock, screams ringing in my ears. One of the last things I saw was Praxis crushed beneath the gigantic monster's paw. That much triumph was granted to Lord Damas, that the man who betrayed him died first. And I want to believe that his dimming eyes caught sight of me and the boy fleeing, knowing we were safe – knowing he had bought enough time, before he died between Kor's jaws, his armor and bones crushed into spoils falling down the hard chins.

Knowing that his son would be safe.

And now…

You cannot force somebody to believe. But for Jak's sake, all our sakes… I agreed to try, to give the child something back for all his suffering. For all the sacrifices.

Just a little prod, a thoughtless and vague comment made by a talking, flying monkey… to a man used to only believing his own eyes – but still knowing to trust in the monkaw's master. While no one else heard, just a little hint.

That is all we have tried, and it is all we can hope for. This knowledge is far too strange to force upon somebody. A man who only believes what he sees must first be made to doubt, then study the hints on his own. Only then can he who does not know the truth choose how to handle it. It is not our right to push him there, neither can it be done.

Lord Damas is not prone to accept absurdities.

'

End Introspection.

'

* * *

For an eternity, Jak could not get to his feet. He managed to drag himself back to Daxter's side, something about safety already driving him on. But once back there, he sat frozen and only stared.

It seemed like something impossible, ripped straight out of everything lost from so long ago. Even more precious now, breathing, within reach. Alive. Cold fingers and blades gone, no longer threatening the precious neck.

He vaguely heard his own breathing, and the wheezing from Daxter's nose. In the background, the howl of the wind continued undisturbed by the chaos that had just passed. He felt the cold, and the rocks digging into his legs. But he didn't register any of it. All he could do was stare.

Daxter. Alive.

And… back.

He should have been dead. And yet…

It may be impossible to walk out safely with Daxter on his shoulder, but Jak felt, though he was in no state to formulate it, that he could live with the loss of that plan.

Sometime during this paralyzed phase, Jak mechanically pulled off his scarf and dropped it over parts Daxter probably would be grateful to find covered once he woke up.

Eventually though, there really was no time for such stunned musings.

_Brain to body, do you copy? Do you copy? Ya think the metal heads are going to leave you alone just because you've forgotten about them? For the love of- _move it_, you buffoon!_

The more sensible parts of Jak's brain finally gave up the shouting and rammed the metaphorical butt of a subconscious morph gun into the paralyzed parts. He blinked a few times, shaking his head to clear it of the confusion.

Right. Cave armed with a metal-pede. Time to move.

He had to admit to himself though, that his hands actually were shaking just the slightest as he shoved his arms beneath the warm back and limp knees. Shock was definitely not good for his image.

Well, Daxter could not see it and by the time the redhead woke up, Jak hoped that he would have gotten his heart down from the racing level and mind set straight again.

Hopefully Daxter could deal with being knocked out for a looong time.

Jak stood up and set his gaze ahead, hurrying forwards to pick up his morph gun. The sand crunched beneath his boots in the sudden silence – reminding him of the dangers more than ever. Apart from the wind, nothing did anything against the noise he tried to keep down. But it was difficult moving silently with the extra weight. Jak frowned, but never stopped – only looked around with more suspicion.

He had to set his friend back down for a moment to pick up his gun, protectively reaching over Daxter's unmoving form to grab the weapon.

That was when he noted the angrily red area on the thin lower arm – with a heart of a deepening black-and-blue hue. His brow shot downwards at the sight of darkness on the pale skin, making him forget the gun for a moment as he took hold of Daxter's wrist and lifted the arm for closer inspection. It was a large mark, disturbing in its size – stretching down the thicker end of Daxter's arm, on the underside where the skin was smoother and softer. Jak moved his gaze and frowned deeper as he found a similar, though lighter, mark on the other arm, almost a mirror of the first.

Had Daxter hit his arms on something? Maybe in the fall?

No…

He recalled seeing everything in a haze – it was nothing he wasn't used to, turning into his dark self always included that.

But there had been that sudden invasion of something light that flew at his prey, a familiar voice that gasped something – confusion drowning in rage, he hadn't cared anymore than noting that something was there. Something that didn't matter as long as he killed his prey.

Now that the eco no longer clouded his senses and his heartbeat was slowing together with his breath, he could piece things together.

Through the haze, that moving blur that latched onto his prey. The cruel light that suddenly moved. He had known that the light was important, but he had forgotten why in the rage.

Now he knew it was the laser cannon, aimed straight at him. Impending death, but he only felt momentarily disturbed by how close it had been. As he looked down to Daxter, he saw the arms that had clumsily grabbed the hard leg – movement so violent that he had bruised himself. Grabbing and pulling, making Erol lose his balance and aim.

Jak let go of the limp arm, raising his hand to Daxter's cheek. Thumb brushing against the round nose, in shape hilariously similar to the black, wet button it had been mere minutes ago. The cheek was soft, not as much as Keira', but it felt much more smooth and warm against his roughened palm.

Not a handsome face, not even a pleasant sight in the odd light of the cavern – the sick glow of the moss giving the skin a grayish tone, dampening the red of Daxter's hair into a withering brown. But the real colors had been there, fully visible in the purer light of the eco – and it would be that way again as soon as they got out of the cave.

No, not a handsome face; angular and oddly shaped like the bones had been stretched and pressed back a couple of times. But with its sorely missed familiarity, alive and safe… it was beautiful.

Jak smiled, squeezing the shoulder in his hand. Wanted Daxter to be awake then, regardless of confusion – wanted to see the blue eyes open, blinking slowly, then widen in surprise at the sight of his own furless hands. Wanted to grin at the look on that face.

But if there was one thing Jak had learnt, it was that things tended to go to hell when he really wanted them to be alright.

That thought sobered him, letting the peace last only for a couple of seconds before he hastily grabbed the morph gun, returned it to its holster and gathered Daxter in his arms again. That done Jak stood up and started on the quick trek back towards the Hopper.

He headed for the lower slope of the hills – a bit too close to the ravine, but it would be easier to climb.

It was too quiet.

He started up the slope, the sand giving away and sliding beneath his boots. For each step it brought him back half a pace, making the climb excruciatingly slow.

One step. Two steps. One back.

Jak gritted his teeth, glancing over his shoulder. There was no real telling whether or not Erol had actually left or just taken off someplace safer – even if it did seem plausible that he was gone, with the lack of attacks during those stunned moments a little while back. Still, there was definitely something else in the cave apart from the warrior and the newly-turned-youngster he tightly held.

Two steps. One back.

He was almost by the top, lifted his foot one last time to pass over onto more stable ground-

And of course, that was when something huge smashed through the ground on the other side of the valley, sending rocks flying. A hoarse screech filled the air, echoing among the crashes of falling rocks.

Jak didn't even waste time looking around. He ran.

Behind him, still far away but hardly far enough, the monstrous body of the metal head hit the ground and started forwards on bloodthirsty claws.

Roles suddenly reversed, the metal-pede the hunter and the two young men the prey. Erol must have held it back earlier.

Frustration and dark eco merged within the warrior and he gritted his teeth against the roars of his entire being, revolting against fleeing. But tightening the grip of Daxter sent a cold shower over his temperament. He had stepped out of the car prepared to fight the damn monster on foot, but at that point Daxter had been sitting on his shoulder, small enough to slip down his shirt if worst came to worst. That was not the situation anymore. Now, Jak would have to drop his unconscious friend on the ground in order to fight, leaving him defenseless.

Protecting Daxter came first. Jak just had to keep both of them alive until he could strike against he opponent.

The opponent who, by the sound of it, had just made it into the valley. It tumbled and screeched, the sound subdued just the slightest by the sunk position. Hopefully it would have a bit of trouble climbing out, too.

They had to get out of sight before the damn thing got them in its beady sights again.

Jak narrowed his eyes ahead; the boulder shielding the Hopper was still too far away to reach in time. But there was another boulder closer by, if he just turned a little – it would bring them even further away from the greater safety of the armed vehicle, but in this case there really was no choice.

The hero took a turn.

The metal-pede roared in frustration as the loose sand slowed its progress upwards.

Daxter squirmed.

Jak sucked in his breath and glanced down. He thought he could see small motions beneath the close eyelids – red lashes fluttered just the slightest. Lips parted around the protruding overbite and a pathetic groan escaped Daxter.

Tightening the grip even more, Jak dove in behind the boulder. He crouched down until he sat on his knees, changing the grip to set Daxter in his lap, off the cool ground. Praying that his eco reserves were drained enough to make it hard for the beast to track them.

Another groan, but it drowned in the frustrated screech of the monster finally reaching the top of the hill and finding its prey nowhere in sight.

"Uhh… wha-?"

Daxter's weak mumble was cut off by Jak's hand clamping over his mouth. He squirmed for a second, panic spiking until he met the gaze set on him and recognized Jak. Then the redhead stared, blinking in confusion – despite the wooziness he obviously noted that something was glaringly odd, apart from the apparent proof of danger which was Jak muffling him. The fingers pressed to his face gave a small squeeze to underline the need for silence.

That loud, monstery noise in the background didn't sound too good either. Really not good. Daxter's first question was what it was. The second was why they were hiding instead of the usual fare of Jak blasting everything threat-like to kingdom come.

There could be no good answers to that. It was enough to make Daxter pinch his eyes shut and shuffle all other confusion into the back of his head. At the next crash he shuddered closer to Jak, instinctively aiming to take cover under the red scarf.

His brain could not avoid confusion, however, when he first noticed that the scarf wasn't there, and his hand somehow managed to curl over something that felt suspiciously much like the shoulder guard he could usually stand on.

Jak bit his lip hard enough to almost draw blood. Worry for their safety clashed with the feel of having Daxter's warm body so close.

He wasn't prepared for this. The only good thing was that at least Daxter hadn't grabbed hold of his arm – feeling the unusual weight on the shoulder plate alone poked at the panic buried in his mind.

The hard drumming of the metal-pede's thrashes forced him back to reality and Jak swallowed hard to get a grip of himself. The monster furiously shrieked, then its feet clattered off in an echo – and began to soften, but still remain for a little while as a subdued, hollow rattle.

It was going into one of its escape holes, maybe hoping that its prey would be stupid enough to start moving about and make noise as soon as the hunter was out of sight.

Jak eased up just the slightest, enough to dare another glance at Daxter. What he saw were a pair of blue eyes wide open, staring at the hand placed on dull metal. Shaking, the hand slid off and was brought up for inspection. Fingers twitched, tested, the other hand came up.

Daxter stared.

Without thinking drawing in a sharp breath but Jak twisted his hand, pinching Daxter's nose shut as well so that not even a squeak made it out. The redhead's eyes shot wide open and he writhed, trying to breathe.

"The metal-pede!"

Jak hissed it into his ear, easing his grip during the last word. Daxter froze, chest rising in one desperate gulp of air and then fluttering in quick, snapping breaths. Wide, blue eyes stared into Jak's narrowed ones, trying to make sense.

The tortured confusion was more than the blond could deal with and he shifted, hand sliding into Daxter's hair as Jak pressed his friend closer, holding his dirty cheek to a clammy forehead. Only too late did he realize that half-choking his friend may have been overreacting, but he could not blame himself for trying to avoid risks.

Daxter squirmed for a moment, then suddenly slumped. Alarmed, Jak shifted back to check that the redhead hadn't passed out again. But the eyes were open, though the eyelids had sunk and a near-delirious smile was twitching in the corners of Daxter's mouth.

He blinked when Jak frowned, but the goofy look remained.

"Izza dream, isn't it, babe?" Daxter whispered, slurring.

Finding himself furless, naked and hugged by his butch best friend just might have touched a little too far out on the other side of his view of reality.

Jak started to shake his head, when both their ears twitched at the sound of rocks crashing and rolling against each other after being flung into the air. Hundreds of huge claws furiously smashed into the ground, drumming it mercilessly as they tore forwards. Still at a distance, but from the sound of it the damn thing still had no plans on giving up the search.

A hand clenched on Jak's upper arm and he nearly jumped, a rush of panicked memories teetering on the edge of his mind – but the tightening of his own arms around Daxter's body pulled him back before it crashed. He looked down, clenching his teeth. The delirious look was gone in a pang of doubt.

"It won't even look at you," Jak growled.

Daxter still looked at him like he wasn't sure whether or not to believe anything was real for the moment. However, he closed his mouth when Jak narrowed his eyes, pressing a big finger to his own tight lips. A small nod was the only reply the redhead managed to give.

Not too gracefully Jak shuffled himself one way, Daxter the other – the redhead moved clumsily, like he was sleepwalking. It looked like his limbs were too heavy for him, which did not really surprise much. It was, however, disconcerting. Could he run if needed?

Jak studied his friend almost fall over when trying to sit straight.

No.

A jaw already set in stone got even tighter.

Without a word the hero produced his morph gun and hit the button for it to transform – a new flavor of unease presently settling in his stomach. He had always liked the powerhouse peace maker but now the sluggish, purple shine was disturbing. It had failed him not even an hour ago.

The movement beside him had stopped. He turned to look, already knowing.

Daxter stared at the familiar gun, teeth clamped down on his lower lip.

In the background, the metal-pede raged on.

Finally Jak shook his head, hand brushing Daxter's shoulder as he stood up. This time it would be okay, and the silence promised it better than any of his words could have.

Daxter pulled up, hugging his knees as his friend left him.

Hands clenched the gun tightly as Jak moved forwards and cautiously looked around the side of the rock. The metal-pede raged about maybe fifty yards away, far too close for comfort. At least it was turned in another direction… and closer to where the Hopper was parked. Jak couldn't see the car, but he could make out the other rock in the dim light.

The most important thing was that he kept the huge beast from getting too close to Daxter. It wasn't looking for two young men, but one man and one tiny pinprick of orange. However, it would probably not stop in surprise at the discovery of another snack.

Jak set his jaw.

When the metal-pede turned away he dashed from their hiding place, running across the cave floor away from both the monster and Daxter. Only when he felt that he was far enough from the one he had left behind, he squeezed the trigger of his gun. White-purple flared beside him and the metal head roared in triumph as it spotted its prey.

It swung around, half the long body thrashing behind the rest as it struggled to completely turn.

Jak stopped running, turned on his heel and raised the gun. Sparks angrily hissed and he had to squint against the intense light, painfully bright against the dusk. He would have wanted to push his goggles down, but there was no time for that.

The metal-pede stormed towards him. He pulled the trigger.

Only too late did the stupid monster realize its mistake, but it had no chance to avoid the ball of pure energy crackling straight into its face. It reared up, screeching in agony as the flares dug into its armor, finding every way to tear at the thick skin and hard eyes. It thrashed and hit the ground again, roaring – injured, blinded and pissed off.

Jak was already running again, only sparing a glance towards the rock where Daxter was still hiding. He could see no movement anywhere except for the huge shadow of the metal-pede. It gave him a brief respite, but he still could not be sure. If there were more metal heads in the cavern, he had no way of knowing – the fact that there had not been any other attackers did not feel like a safe piece of proof. Not when Erol may have orchestrated the whole thing as long as he was still here.

Who was to say that the cyborg wasn't still somewhere close?

Jak gritted his teeth. The metal-pede was too noisy, he may not be able to hear Daxter scream.

He had to kill that damn thing. Now. Without getting too far away from the friend who needed him. They'd leave here together, alive and safe.

Hundreds of claws drummed behind him and he looked around. The metal-pede's face was burnt black and it moved clumsier than before. The blast may have damaged its eyes. But it was still coming straight at him.

He dashed closer towards the edge of the valley by the ravine, and sharply turned. The metal-pede tried to skid to a halt but its momentum and the loose sand sent it toppling down into the sink. Jak inwardly cursed at not having managed to get close enough to the ravine to send the monster down there instead, to join its companions. He had to make do.

The monster tumbled over on its back, furiously thrashing as it tried to get back up. It wouldn't take it too long to manage, but it gave Jak enough time to start charging up the now cooled peace maker again. By the time the metal-pede got back to its feet, he was prepared.

It started up the slope, only to have another blast straight into its face – and at much closer proximity. The new screech was hoarse and the beast tumbled back down, twisting about in agony – completely blinded this time, the exoskeleton of its face cracking. Jak saw the slithering fractures as the last of the blast died away, dark eco bleeding through them and casting its non-light over the burnt insect face.

He waved the peace maker about a little, trying to make it cool quicker. But the metal-pede was so dazed that when it finally managed to turn back towards him, Jak was ready to fire another shot.

It did not screech or roar this time, it had no chance. The energy tore through the broken panzer of its face and ripped the metal-pede's head apart. Dark eco exploded, thrown about in the violent death throes.

Jak didn't stay to watch, not even to refill his eco reserves. The moment he was sure that the metal head was beyond saving, he turned and dashed back towards the secluding rock, to Daxter.

He almost fell around it, eyes locking on the redhead's eyes immediately. Daxter had not moved, still sitting where he had been left behind, curled up and staring in the direction of the steps.

Both of them lost all tension as they saw each other. Even with the crashes of the metal-pede's throes in the background, grins of relief took over the young men's faces.

Daxter tried to stand up but staggered and fell back with an annoyed grunt.

"Hot damn, I weigh a ton!" he complained, rubbing his thigh – just below where the border of the scarf. "The heck were ya feeding me all this time, Jak?"

The whine was so utterly _Daxter_ that Jak could do nothing but smile. He glanced around one last time to be on the safe side, then returned the morph gun to its holster and hunched down beside his friend.

"You okay, Dax?"

"Naked, sore and freezing in the middle of a desert, thank you?" Daxter said.

He was grinning now, but it suddenly dropped as his elbow knocked against his bare side.

His gaze fell away and he moved his hand, pressing it against his stomach. The other hand rose slowly, shaking, to the side of his neck where a few hairs had been nicked by a razor sharp blade.

A bigger hand came into view and he jumped, ripping his gaze back to Jak. There was no smile now, but the big hand moved to the bare side of the thin neck and rested against it. Eyebrows drawn low, Jak made a shield against the remaining chill of the remembered edges.

For a second they just watched each other, Jak grim and Daxter uneasy, looking at his friend with some confusion. Soon enough however, the blond shook himself out of it. He moved his hand down and around Daxter's shoulders, helping the redhead get to his feet. A warm arm clumsily rose up and snaked around his neck – Jak clamped down his teeth, instinctual panic at the touch bubbling in the back of his mind and mixing into a painful brew with wonder at feeling Daxter un-furry and close. Until now, he had been the one carrying an unconscious body, but Daxter moved on his own now, watching Jak intently.

An annoyed blush darkened the freckled face when the scarf dangerously slipped. Daxter fumbled for it with his free hand, catching the sagging cloth.

"Holy crap…" he muttered, voice higher than usual.

He looked up, scowling in suspicion of Jak watching that undignified display. But the blond had pointedly avoided it, eyes set to meet Daxter's the moment the exasperated face turned the right way. The redhead visibly relaxed a little at that.

"I think there's a blanket in the Hopper," Jak said.

"There better be, or I'll make you skin a seat," Daxter replied.

They started towards the car, Jak keeping a lookout for any potential threat every step of the way. But even the metal-pede had finally stopped moving, and all was silent apart from the wind and their steps.

Daxter moved as quick as he could, but his suddenly returned body obviously caused him a lot more trouble than the first transformation had. It made sense; last time he had grown a whole lot lighter. To him it really must feel like he weighed a ton.

The fact that he had to try and hold the scarf didn't help either. So he stumbled along, supported by his best friend and crouching under his own weight. Despite this he took in a deep breath after a few steps.

"Well, you're obviously taking me home with you no matter what decides to get in the way," he said. "Good to know."

Jak sacrificed a moment of safeguard to half-smile at Daxter, letting him know that the attempt to lighten up the mood was appreciated. The gesture was returned with a weak grin.

"Don't I always?" Jak said.

Daxter's grin widened.

"Yeah, big guy, I've noted that's one of them quirks you've got going."

That definitely made it safe enough to pull at Daxter for a brief, playful squeeze. The protest at the stumble this caused was simply attacked by an amused smirk.

They made it to the Hopper without any further trouble. Jak helped Daxter climb into the passenger seat, taking care not to make it more embarrassing than it obviously already was for the redhead. The blond lifted his friend up by his arms and let him fall over on the seat by himself. That done Jak quickly stepped down on the ground and made his way around to get into the driver's seat. But before he sat down he reached for the back of the car, to the small expanse of floor behind the seats.

A brown blanket made out of rough cloth met his fumbling hand and was pulled out, to great relief for both of them – though for rather different reasons. Jak threw the cloth over Daxter and sat back, starting the engine while the passenger wrestled with himself to get wrapped up.

Jak drove out from the hiding place and around the rock, turning the Hopper towards where he recalled the exit to be. Because Daxter kept having troubles with getting "dressed", it was a rather silent ride through the cavern – save the grumbles and half curses of course.

It was when they entered the tunnel leading out that there was an "Uhm…" on Jak's right side. He glanced, seeing Daxter sitting with the blanket around him up to his armpits. In his lap laid the scarf, held in a loose grip.

He held up the red cloth.

"Thanks for letting me borrow this, man."

There was little else to do in reply to that than snort and point to the back of the car with a thumb. Daxter dropped the scarf where the blanket had been laying, awkwardness faltering as Jak chuckled. Grinning, the passenger rubbed the back of his head.

Up ahead the darkness parted for sunlight, the welcoming glow speeding closer and growing more intense by the second.

"Hang on," Jak said and pushed down the button to make the Hopper crouch for the leap.

They soared across the hole blocking the way in and out of the cave. The car touched down with a metallic slap and groan, but past that they skidded out and down the slope of sand into the hot blast of sunlight.

Jak let the Hopper slide along as gravity demanded, there was little that they could crash into right there. Letting the focus off the area around them he looked at Daxter again. The redhead still clutched the sides of his seat, a rather confused look on his face. He turned to see askance in Jak's eyes.

The hands let go and Daxter straightened up, chuckling with a mix of embarrassment and pure elation.

"Still used to being sent flying by your jumping acts," he said. "You'll hafta find some other way to rattle me now."

His smirk almost split his face, even more when Jak lightly slapped at the top of his red head without any intention of really hitting. Daxter still ducked away from it, laughing.

Amused and relived to the core, Jak tramped on the clutch and gas pedal, sending the Hopper back into motion. They sped across the desert, but Jak didn't head for Spargus right away. He did not want to wait for the entire ride back there to finally get a chance to stop and look at Daxter for a moment in peace. Out in the open under the blazing desert sun, sitting ducks for anything out for a kill, was not a good place for it either.

The nearest lean-to was the tunnels beneath the great volcano mountain range. More caves did not sound very much inviting either when it got down to it, but at least those were kept clean of metal heads and the marauders avoided getting into them with their clunky vehicles. The bandits were easy enough to pluck down outside with better equipment; in the tunnels the rogues could not use their normal tactic of simply coming from too many angles to fight off.

There was another reason to camp out for a little while. Even though it was a long drive back to Spargus, there was something else that needed a bit more time than that – it took longer to get to Haven from Spargus than to get to the sand city from the middle of the desert. Specifically, time that the air train needed from being called to actually arriving and being ready to bring the two youngsters to the questionable safety of Haven. But it would definitely be safer for Daxter. The first moment he took a step inside Spargus would be the moment he was in demand for the next arena fight. There was no way he could manage to survive that.

Jak hardly thought about this more than on a subconscious level yet, he didn't want to ponder such things. All of him which wasn't concentrating on driving, was set on listening to Daxter.

"I can't wait to see their faces when we get back. Oh man, the look on Pecker's face!"

A mildly deranged snerk was born from the last comment. Jak had to chuckle too, shaking his head. It struck him as Daxter went on and on, that something was different from usual. The same voice and tone, nothing wrong there. But he spoke slower.

Now that Jak thought about it for a moment, he recalled being perplexed at the speed Daxter had picked up in his rants post-eco bath. So much in fact, that it had been difficult sometimes, at first, to make out what the little rat was going on about when he really got going.

"And the revered mister Sour cream Tattoo… hey, I'm taller than Samos again! Oh man, and Tess…"

Jak squeezed the wheel. He had been prepared for the blonde lady's name to come up, even if he had not been aware of it. But Daxter went on in his rant, recounting friend after friend past his "Tessy-poo". Everyone except the one who sat beside him. But the big, blue eyes were locked on the face of the driver, the best friend, the guy who took in every word even though the route demanded the attention of his sight most of the time.

"… wonder what Keira's gonna say. And on that subject again, I hope Samos' eyes'll pop outta his lil' green skull. Not to forget Ashelin and Sig. Hah! And none of the new peeps even believed us when we told 'em I wasn't always fuzzy! Well the man's shed the fur now…?"

His rambles faltered, a pang of confusion creeping into his last words. Jak heard the frown before he saw it, but he still glanced his question.

Daxter scratched his head, watching Jak with an uncertain spark in his eyes.

"Uhm… how did I get back, anyway?" he asked. "It's… kinda blurry."

Bad memories crashed down, visible in both their eyes. Jak clenched his teeth and forced them aside – later, later…

Instead, he focused on what was alright. Explained the white eco that had made its way out from underground, onto the plateau. As he talked he felt sympathy from Daxter's disbelieving gaze. Such luck, was it luck? It was enough to make a guy religious.

But he finished the explanation anyway, and then waited for a comment. Hoping that it would keep the memories at bay – surely Daxter would prefer it that way too.

However, with so much to question about the string of events that had resulted in his return to un-furriness, Daxter's brain tried to start sorting it out from the beginning.

"Hang, hang on, wait… I fell in there because- I'm back thanks t-"

He snapped his mouth shut at the look on Jak's face.

Yeah. There really was no need to finish that line of thought.

Ever.

But the lid had been opened, and now the memory of what had happened inside the cavern, in the valley, by the ravine, in Erol's control, all of it laid bare and open to both of them.

An awkward silence fell, Daxter biting his lip. It was so apparent that he wanted to ask about why, beg for a reason for actions that should not have been possible for his best friend to go through with. But he could look at Jak now and already know that there would be a numb little smile and a headshake, and not a word anyone could hear. Only that look in Jak's eyes saying that he would do it again, and again – and let whatever happen, even if he may claim that he never really would let Erol or anybody else take him down without a fight.

Jak already looked serious enough, lips pressed together and eyes tight. So grim that Daxter's mind reeled back at least ten years, what felt like three lifetimes ago, when there were green grass and white sand and warm waves lapping at both their small feet.

Running down the beach hollering and laughing – Daxter the only loud one but Jak just behind him, just as excited but silent. Armed with sticks that in their minds were swords, attacking drift wood and ocean smoothed rocks that figured as monsters and dragons. Children not yet knowing real danger.

And then him climbing onto one of the bigger rocks after they had "slain" it, proudly declaring that they were brothers in arms and nothing could ever defeat them because they would die for each other.

He had laughed then, at the way Jak's round little face gazed up at him, triumphant grin gone in sudden seriousness. Like he took it as a sincere vow – the fantasy world broke down for Daxter in that moment, because it was too funny to see his friend taking the statement with such gravity.

But that serious expression was grown up and real now.

Daxter gulped, looking out at the sand around them in the search for some way to repair the situation. He didn't want to think about it. He'd have to eventually, but not now. Not yet.

The godawful amount of sand offered no ideas. He looked around again, finding Jak's gaze shifting from the area ahead of them and back to him quickly. Desperately, Daxter threw his mental net deeper into his own mind. And in his rush to keep away from everything that had happened back in the cave, he stumbled upon a detail that had been about to surface before he sent everything awry by almost crediting Erol for doing something good.

He was in no position to be choosy.

"Uhm, wait," he started, holding up his left hand and touching the fingertips with his right pointing finger as if trying to calculate something. "I don't remember. How did I get back up there after I fell?"

He saw Jak stiffen a bit at first, and cursed inwardly. But just as suddenly the tight face relaxed and the numb smile deepened. Daxter raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't see," Jak said, looking ahead. "I guess the white eco spat you out like the dark did back then."

"Uhuh, yeah. Real nice of it, wish it'd given me my pants back though… what?"

The smile looked odder than he had thought, but Daxter saw it when Jak looked at him. It wasn't anything he had not seen before, but definitely of the near extinct kind. Still, Daxter's heart jumped when he recognized it, though he could not at first recall why he was entitled to that smile.

"Thanks for the save," Jak said.

Daxter couldn't remember when he last had heard that voice so soft, and he was left blinking even while a warm, fuzzy feeling of pride settled in his gut.

"… uh?"

The tension shattered when Jak gave a silent chuckle. When he spoke again however, he had sobered – still smiling in the same way, but the words demanded more sincerity.

"When you pulled his leg," he clarified.

Neither of them had been fully aware how far they had come, and Jak probably should have been more conscious of it. Still, in the brief silence that followed, the Hopper rolled inside the mountain tunnels. Jak pushed down the brake and they came to a halt still within reach of the sunlight.

Daxter was blinking.

He could recall movement and blurred colors, a rush of panic – everything confused and disjointed like a dream, unable to make sense in his jumbled mind. He had an image of seeing Jak not being Jak and that cold metal _thing_ calling itself a person when it was a monster, freak, freak freak, dared to call Jak a freak dared to smile and it was going to _kill him_- and Daxter was still moving and got within reach, brain far from clear enough to piece a proper thought together but he knew he had to do something against that painful light.

So he pulled the bastard's leg. But then his arm hurt and Jak took the thing away and he fell back. After that, things started to make sense again, when the screeched and sharp sounds jolted him back to the real world. Just in time to see Erol take the coward-trek and fly off.

Daxter blinked again, and did a double take. He retraced the confusing bit and set them up to actually make some sense, past the panic. Added what Jak said.

That warm fuzzy feeling grew three times its size.

"Heeey!"

He had to let out that howl, to get a chance to get his bearings straight. Because, golly, that realization and the look on Jak's face had him practically floored.

But only for a moment, of course. Then his palm collided with Jak's in a light high-five and he was cackling.

"Perfect save by yours truly! Ha! You owe me a drink, man."

Totally disregarding the fact that Jak always paid for their drinks. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered for a moment, except the fact that they were both safe and sound, anybody wanting to hurt them sent running by a joint effort.

You saved me. You saved me.

Jak sat back and just watched, trying to take it in again. And for the first time, out of the cave's dusk and in enough calm to allow him to actually look closer, he got a proper look. The red hair and the freckles, skin pale in compare to the tanned hand that had clashed into his in a playful slap. Protruding front teeth shaping the laughter, as contagious as ever. The same as the ottsel's, but stronger and finally completely Daxter again.

But it wasn't exactly as he remembered. Little details in cheekbone and smile, more angular, less rounded. Daxter wasn't fourteen anymore, he was seventeen, almost eighteen. Not a kid – but Jak knew from own experience, and he smirked a bit wider at it for once; both of them would still be called kids even when they were young men.

That didn't matter either.

All Daxter, alive, returned to what he used to be but grown. Laughing, eyes shining with delight.

Beautiful.

It may have been lucky, for the way Jak's arms wanted to reach out and enclose his friend, press him to his chest and hold him close – lucky for that moment, that all such wishes were derailed, for it may have destroyed the laughter for a longer time. What did happen stopped the laughter, but it was easier to mend. Whichever the case, luck or not luck, it was not pleasant.

Because in the light, with peace, Jak saw things that he hadn't been able to notice before. When his gaze traveled down just a little bit, his smile froze.

There was a line of scars around Daxter's left shoulder – a crescent of round bumps, more pink than the rest of his skin.

Something had bitten him. Something big too, by the look of it.

"What's that?"

Jak frowned as he reached out and thumbed the offending marks. The warm skin slid under his fingers as Daxter moved, rolling his shoulder in an attempt to get it within sight. Red eyebrows jumped around on their forehead as the eyes beneath them squinted.

"Huh?" Daxter muttered.

It took him another second to realize what it was, and then he stiffened immediately.

"Ah, nothing!"

He shrugged Jak's hand off, clapping his own fingers over the shoulder. Teeth coming down on his lower lip he looked away, the hard swallow very much visible. After a tense moment he took in a deep breath and started off with what he did best. Chattering.

"I'd totally forgotten about this one. Sheez. Now don't go into mommy-mode on me, bud."

He lifted his hand a little, taking another look. The hand went back down with a low thump.

"Man, they must've grown with me. It was just some slum rat thinking I was a fuzzy piece of cheese."

Jak only clenched his teeth harder.

"Dax-"

The redhead snapped his head at the blond suddenly, shaking it with a half annoyed, half pleading look.

"Oh come on, don't stop the music. I was feeling good here, so guilt trips aren't allowed!" he said, rubbing his shoulder. "It's not like it hurts anymore. Besides you couldn't have done anything, you weren't there-"

He stopped dead, pinching his eyes shut. It didn't help, he could still feel Jak stiffen.

The words were heavy in the air, with everything they meant and reminded the two men of.

Daxter shrunk back, melting down into his seat as his hand slipped from the shoulder and hooked at the side of his stomach instead. His fingertips pushed into the cloth, massaging it against his skin while he chewed on his lower lip, glancing at Jak from the corner of his eye. Could still feel it, and knew that Jak saw that he still felt it – the huge, cold fingers clenching around his tiny body, making it impossible to breathe, to do anything but tremble.

It was far too close still, and behind it were memories of months upon months of loneliness, lost in a new world that hated them both.

"I, ah… I haven't gotten… well, yeah, I got one more since then but…" Daxter finally said, faltering. He fell silent, then set his jaw. Forcing himself to turn his head he tried to smile. "Your mommy-syndrome's been payin' off for a while."

He fidgeted with the blanket, dropping his gaze to his lap.

For a minute there was a silent struggle of wills until Daxter gave up and dared a glance. Jak's eyes nailed him to his spot, clenching the bony hands in the blanket. He shrunk further back, even though Jak did not move.

The blond's face was tight, mouth thin – unlike the eyes. There was something wild in them, a masochistic demand for knowledge.

"Uhm…"

Daxter struggled for another moment. In the end however, he let out a sigh.

"Seriously…"

It was supposed to be annoyed, but he failed to make it so. Sitting up straight he lifted his – suddenly so very heavy, making him wonder if it had always been like that – left leg and set the foot on his seat. The blanket still shielded him at first, but the brown covering fell aside with a light pull and pale skin emerged. Daxter anxiously peered at it, then turned to Jak with the same look in his eyes when he found that the marks were indeed there – and as bad as he had assumed after seeing what had become of his shoulder scars.

"Oh come on, you know that… leaper lizard throwing me off?" Daxter pleaded. "Remember?"

Jak did remember, his eyebrows tightening.

The stupid animals were normally quite gentle, even when wild, and Daxter had managed them fairly well the first couple of times the two of them were sent to the ruins to catch more mounts. Easy work that could earn even Daxter some recognition was a welcome change of pace once in a while, but…

_Small orange body shooting forwards, slapping onto the back of one of the lizards. Twig-arms squeezing the neck, ready to force the beast through the twists and turns to the cage… but this one doesn't run._

_It jumps, swings around and throws its neck._

"_HEY whoa!" _

_The tiny body looses its foothold, sweeps like a wet rag clinging to the dry scales-_

"_Dax!"_

_Brakes screech, wheels tearing into the sand but its too late, too late. Before boots even touch the ground there's another kind of screech and a speck of orange flies, a sharp arch, crashes in a patch of cacti. _

_The lizard flees._

_He doesn't care. _

_Meaty plants crushed beneath his boots as he rushes towards the skeletal form in the green. It lies brokenly, limbs hung over several cacti. Small hand reaches up, blue shimmering through slit eyelids, a whine. _

_Alive. _

_But pain so terrifyingly apparent._

_Knees crush thick branches, ignore the sting of needles. Big hands reach down, thumb brushing the tiny hand. _

_I'm here, I'm here, don't worry…_

_Fingers wedge beneath small back carefully, nudging lightly to check how it hurts before lifting. Small groans from moving the limp arm, pricks of crimson. A weak cry and Daxter arches in agony at the slightest push at his left leg._

_Two needles pierce the fur and skin, dug into the tiny calf. _

Jak never did figure out if he managed to catch that particular lizard, which was very lucky for the damn thing. Even luckier now.

What had been pinpricks of painful yet small needles, hidden beneath the fur, now looked more like marks from a pair of spears. It got a whole new meaning, put the entire accident into Daxter's point of view in a way Jak had not fully grasped before. It churned his stomach, but the blond also felt a renewed surprise – after what had happened he had not believed that Daxter would ever want to try catching anymore lizards. But the ottsel had, more furiously than ever. Refusing to give up something that he was actually better at than many others.

Despite the unease, a speck of pride fluttered for the redhead.

Jak straightened up.

"Is that it, Dax?"

There was a distinct underlying hope in that tone, mixed with tension.

"Uhm…"

The hope died.

Daxter looked away, fingers drumming against the cloth covering his legs.

"I think there maaaybe something more, but it's not so bad. Really, it can't have been more than a scratch. You don't wanna see. Really, Jak…"

He turned back, blue eyes pleading.

"… y-you don't wanna do this."

What was frightening was that this was the kind of thing that Daxter should flaunt – battle scars to wear as proof of his own bravery in the past. Make up stories to make Tess coo for him.

But he didn't.

He knew Jak wouldn't coo. Jak didn't think about the bravery, not when there hadn't been any – he had enough scars for at least ten people and he'd rather face off with the entire metal head nest again than show them to anyone.

Jak thought about the pain. That he should have been there to prevent it, either by crushing anything that tried to hurt his small best friend, or-

Daxter's stomach rolled, hands clenching in the blanket until they shook.

… or say "take me instead". A small part of Daxter was still praying that he had just been dreaming the whole thing. Jak should never have done anything like that. Not for anyone.

Jak was the guy who risked everything for those he cared about. Not… sold himself.

Daxter tried not to meet the eyes watching him, knowing how they would look – stern and angry. But really, when you knew Jak well enough… it wasn't anger. It just tipped over when he got so worried he didn't know what to do with himself, that stuff that made him pick up his gun and go kill the closest thing that looked like a danger.

There was nothing he could shoot in this situation to make it better.

"Dax."

He looked up because Jak didn't sound angry.

That haggard look was worse than anything Daxter had expected.

Jak was gripping the wheel so hard the muscles on his entire arm bulged. It clashed with the parted lips and the heavy eyes.

Saying perfectly well that, "no, I don't wanna do this. But I need to." Didn't need to do anything to bring Daxter's thoughts to the moment he saw Jak's scars for the first time.

He wanted to talk Jak out of it, but that attempt had already failed.

Daxter crumbled.

"Oh sh-sheez, fine. Just stop the guilt tripping, d-dammit, okay?"

He grabbed the blanket and tried to turn on his seat, turning clumsy both because of the cloth getting in the way and being insecure in his new-old body – feeling Jak's tension raise in sync with his own for every stumble. A big hand landed on his shoulder and steadied him; he'd rather the movement had taken longer, at the same time as he was half-relieved to get the awkward motions over with. But once he sat with his back to Jak, the only thing he could do to remain was to gulp and pray there was nothing to see, no matter how stupid that would make him look. He'd prefer that.

"Well, uh, I really don't think there's anything," he started, "so just- just…"

He faltered, biting his lip as he let the blanket drop. The cloth silently slid down his back.

He knew from the hiss of Jak's breath that hope was in the wastebasket. Looked over his shoulder just to be sure, and winced at the stinging shock.

Just to be sure he reached down and around, fumbling a hand over the small of his back as well as he could. The shallows were just where he had expected them to be. He cleared his throat.

"So, it was just this allicat, see… thinking I was lying around dead, stupid hyena wannabe…"

He slumped, because Jak didn't move an inch.

"Looks worse than that, huh?"

Jak finally nodded, mouth too dry to form a reply. It did look worse. Far worse than a carcass-eating type of catbeast, the scars had grown to something that Metal Kor may have accomplished.

_Fangs sunk into fur, piercing the tender skin, lifting a limp body and carrying it off to feed on. _

He could see it, clearer then he wanted – all that and the blood dripping out of the damn critter's mouth and onto the ground as it trotted onwards. And Daxter weakly squirming.

And why had Daxter been lying around looking dead in the first place?

Jak decided he really did not want to know. Tried to focus on that it was okay, it was in the past and Daxter was fine. Breathing and alive and right in front of him, looking over his own shoulder with an anxious expression.

It was no use. It wasn't enough.

Looking to meet Daxter's gaze, Jak let go of the wheel and put his hand over one of the large indentations, brushing his fingertips across it.

Daxter didn't flinch, only making the connection to the petting therapy Jak had worked on both of them for years.

He didn't know half of it. Not even when Jak clenched his teeth and spread his fingers, moving his hand to another scar, trying to hide it from his own view.

Not like he had wanted to touch, running his hands over the warm skin and feel goose bumps appear as he pressed Daxter close and held him. There was no place for anything like it, not for a lover's touch.

A thrill shot through his fingers and arm as he stroked his fingertips against Daxter's back, but it faltered and died in the rising taste of bile.

The scars laid open to him, marks of agony. Some things he never had known before thanks to the fur, that Daxter had consciously hidden from him.

Jak watched, trying to keep his breath calm. Deciding that nothing would ever be allowed to get anywhere close to hurting Daxter again. He wouldn't allow it. A connected decision teetered on his mind – to not let Daxter get anywhere close to anything that could hurt him again. But though Jak recognized the existence of such a thought, there was the wall that rose up against it. Demanding to know how he imagined being able to do without Daxter.

Alone.

"Jak… c'mon, don't be like that…" Daxter muttered.

He looked up, meeting the pleading gaze. The joy from before was broken, and they both knew whose fault it was.

Jak looked away, gritting his teeth.

The tension was broken by a buzz on the communicator. Jak jumped, then heavily sat back and unhooked the equipment from his belt. It unfolded itself in his hand, floating up to mimic some sort of flying creature.

"Hey cherries, you done over there?" came Sig's familiar voice from the speakers.

Half annoyed and half relieved to be brought out of the painful study of Daxter's scars, Jak waved his hand. On his own seat, Daxter wrapped himself up in the blanket with a deep sigh of relief. He ignored the fact that Jak's eyes cut towards him with a pained look.

"Yeah, we're fine," the blond said, "just…"

He cleared his throat. A faint hope flickered, for mending what he had destroyed a few minutes ago.

"… you know how Daxter always told you he wasn't always an ottsel?" Jak said.

He spoke as calmly as he could.

"Yeah?" Sig said, puzzlement apparent in his voice. "Why?"

The gloom on Daxter's face began to crack up. When Jak grabbed the communicator with one hand, a full blown grin spread out on either side of the overbite.

"And you never believed him," Jak said and turned the camera to the passenger seat.

Daxter grinned from ear to ear, lifting a hand to wave at the man watching on the other end of the line.

"Hiya, Siggy!"

A moment of silence followed. Then:

"What the _heck_?"

To the sound of Daxter's cackling, Jak returned the focus to himself.

"I think he'll want to tell you himself over a few drinks."

And now, even Jak could grin again. Sadly, it didn't get to last long.

"I'll want to hear it, but for now you chili peppers better head home if ya ain't still in the cave," Sig said.

The grin became a frown. Daxter too fell silent.

"Storm on the way?" Jak said.

"Yeah, a nasty bugger."

Sig growled.

"An' the air train's wrecked, we got attacked by marauders. I'm back in Spargus."

A pause, long enough for the problems with a wrecked air train to start being realized. But before Jak or Daxter could speak again, Sig broke them off.

"Come over to my place when you get here, it'll be safer. Closer to the gate."

"You okay with that?" Jak said.

The difference would be trying to make it across half the city, or only a few yards past the gate, to reach safety without being seen. The alternative would be hiding Daxter in the car park, but with Kleiver's lumbering presence there, it posed an even greater danger.

Sig grunted.

"Can't leave ya hanging, now can I?"

He somehow managed to force a lighter tone into his voice. But they all thought about what had happened in the arena all those weeks ago. And again, this was about the arena and the purity that Damas demanded – that everyone offered up to the desert and saved by Spargus must earn their right to stay there. Daxter hadn't been of a size that mattered before.

"Hey now, no sweat," the redhead put in, "if it's a storm they'll be running all over the place. Nobody's gonna notice Jak sneaking in with me."

His voice caught a high tangent towards the end and he glanced at Jak, hoping for a reassuring sign.

Unfortunately, Jak was never good at faking things. Especially not when it came to somebody who knew him as well as Daxter did. He settled for tightening his jaw to show that if the idea wasn't right, then he would _make_ it right.

Daxter sunk back in his seat.

"You're prolly right," Sig said. But he too only managed to make a grim impression. Clearing his throat, he continued. "Anyway, get here as soon as you can, chili peppers."

"On our way," Jak said.

The screen went blank and the communicator dropped, folding itself up. Jak caught it and swept it back where it belonged, turning the engine key of the Hopper with his other hand. Sand tore up from the ground behind them as the car roared to life and shot forwards through the tunnel.

Outside, the wind howled not much more than usual, but the sky was darkening in the east. Soon the sand would swirl and pinprick any speck of skin it could reach. From there, it only got worse. Jak glared at the stretch of desert ahead of them, hoping that no marauders would be out hunting. He wanted some peace and quiet to sit down and sort things out with Daxter, was that too goddamn much to ask?

The past stress was getting the better of him.

He took one hand from the wheel to rub his face, then glanced at Daxter. The redhead was watching him, blue eyes still searching for a promise of safety. As soon as he met Jak's gaze though, he tried to smile.

"Ain't that just our luck, eh? One awesome thing happen, next our ride to Haven's wrecked by hobby-bandits. The precursors hate our guts, I tell you!"

The babbling managed to ease Jak's most immediate frustration. He relaxed a little, if only enough to speak.

"When we get there, we'll pretend you're wounded and I'll carry you again. I won't let you be tested in the arena."

"Yes please," Daxter said.

He shuddered. But it lasted only for a moment, as he soon launched into repeating just how cool it was that he had been turned back.

Jak would have wanted to smile more about it than he could, but the new worry dug into his already exhausted mind. It was starting to take its toll, the fight with Erol and the metal-pede, the long drive behind them and the one ahead, all the things brought up with Daxter.

Sighing a bit, Jak unhooked the water flask from his belt and took a few deep gulps before handing it to Daxter. When he got it back the canteen was a bit too light for his liking, too small to be used for two fully grown people. But it should suffice for the trip back.

He narrowed his eyes at the desert ahead. The sand was starting to drift in the increasing wind, already prickling his skin. Spargus was a shadow on the horizon, hardly visible apart from the signal tower. Speeding closer – safety and danger.

Instinctively Jak reached for his scarf to protect his nose and mouth from the sand, only to remember that it wasn't there. Grabbing it from the back and wrapping it over his face may have been the smartest thing to do practically speaking, but he could spare both himself and Daxter that piece of awkwardness. He pulled down his goggles – they would have to make do.

After a while, Daxter lifted the blanket to hide his entire face against the onslaught of the sand.

Jak didn't say it, but in his mind his promise replayed over and over with an addition he never would be able to speak out loud.

_I'd rather fight Damas._

'-'

Various vehicles began to meet them as they neared the walls of Spargus, none of the other drivers attempting to stop them. Those men and women had artifacts in mind, even when the storm promised to be a bad one. Jak ignored them all, hardly even returning the brief greeting waves when his car was recognized. On another day he may have been going their way too, but certainly not today.

He steered inside, passing alongside cars on their way out, and parked at the Hopper's designated spot, trying to remain calm. If he moved too fast, somebody would definitely take notice of him. As it was though, the guess about people being busy had been correct. There were not many of them left in the parking area, but those that were there were heading to and fro their cars with definite single-mindedness. Few spared a glance to the side as they hurried along, anxious to get out before the storm got too bad, or get inside in time.

Jak turned off the engine and hopped out of the car, heading around it. He climbed up on the passenger side and gathered Daxter into his arms again. The redhead was silent now, having fretfully winded himself deep into the blanket. It looked almost like he was packaged up to go, but an arm crawled out from the cloth and reached up around Jak's neck for support.

It was a pain not being able to enjoy the simple gesture more.

But Jak had other things on his mind, stepping back onto the ground and hurrying towards the city entrance. Once that gate closed behind him he felt Daxter carefully breathe out. Jak too dared to feel a little safer, but still sped up a little. He could see the stair leading up to Sig's apartment, only a few yards away – but he would have preferred to already be inside, out of sight for dangerous eyes. He trudged on, as quickly as he felt was safe.

Unaware that the danger was as real as they worried – for somebody did note them, and raised a naked brow.

Jak didn't even bother to knock, knowing Sig was waiting for them. He simply pushed the door open with his elbow and stepped inside. The owner of the apartment was already fully turned around when the door was kicked shut behind the visitors.

"Everyone in one piece?" Sig asked, stepping away from the window he had been standing by.

Probably waiting impatiently, exercising his fabled big brother complex. No wonder Jinx called him "Big Mama".

And yet, somehow, lived.

"Yeah, we're just peachy," Daxter said, forcing a smile as he freed a hand from the blanket and made the victory sign.

Both he and Jak looked quite relieved when the latter could put Daxter down on one of the chairs standing by Sig's table. The blond stepped back, placing a hand on the furniture for support.

A bit of sleep was starting to sound really, really nice.

Daxter wasted not a second taking note of this.

"I think Jak's starting to fade like a flower or something though, but don't tell him I said that. Ah crap, lookit that glare. You told him, didn't you, Siggy?"

Up to this point, Sig had still been watching both of them with distinct disbelief. It seemed like up until he heard Daxter's nonsensical rambles, he had not really managed to actually accept that the rat had been turned into a young man.

The disbelief was still there, but it changed from suspicious to purely questioning.

"What did that big bugger _do_ to you cherries?" he asked.

Jak and Daxter exchanged glances.

There was a lot in this story that was definitely not very well suited for passing on.

"Well it was this, see-" Daxter started, grappling for how much to tell and how to do so without saying a word about any cyborg events.

He may have gotten on track if just given a second to think, he was used enough to make up stories. Either way, Sig may just have believed bits of anything the youngster said in the first place. But before Daxter had time to get going, there was another voice cutting him off.

"Is there a problem?"

A hoarse, stern voice. Jak spun to face the speaker, Sig straightened up and Daxter froze on his seat.

The intruder closed the door behind him, looking sharply at all three of them. He had not knocked, for he was entitled to go anywhere he wished in Spargus – or he had not knocked because he was suspicious of foul play, things he probably had not hoped true. But now he watched them sternly, the king who could tell all of them to die or leave the city at any moment they did not follow his orders.

And this man, Jak refused a step closer to Daxter.

Arms flung out protectively, Jak faced the man he looked up to more than he ever had anyone before.

"I know the law! I know what should be done! But it's Daxter, you know him, Damas, it wouldn't be a test, it'd be murder. He spent three years as an ottsel, he can hardly walk! I was the one who got banished, he just followed me when they dropped me in the desert. I'll bring him back to Haven as soon as the new air train gets here. If that's not good enough for you, at least let me fight instead of him!"

Jak panted as he finished, two times only. Then he stood still, glaring upwards at the silent Damas.

Actually, Damas was not only silent, he also had a mildly perplexed expression on his stern face.

It took a moment for the other residents of the room to regain their senses. Sig found himself with his jaw hanging, something that annoyed him quite a bit. He closed his mouth, glancing at Daxter.

The redhead was gaping as well. That was a bit of a relief – it wasn't just the senior wastelander who felt that something in the world order was out of place, at least.

Then finally, Damas moved. With a quick motion he grabbed and pulled off Jak's goggles, dropping them on the table and in the same fluid movement lifting his hand to his own forehead. His other hand lightly slapped down between Jak's hairline and eyes before the blond had time to recoil.

"Hey-!"

Jak ducked away, eyebrows tighter than ever.

"You don't have a fever," Damas said, flatly.

"No, but I think he just filled his word quota for the next two weeks," Daxter said, a rather exhausted edge in his tone.

Purple eyes cut their gaze to the redhead, obviously recognizing the voice.

For a moment, nobody said anything. Daxter began to fidget under the appraising glare.

"You _are_ that rat?" Damas finally said.

With a nervous chuckle, Daxter held up two fingers in the victory sign.

The king rolled his eyes, then set them on the silent Jak. For a few seconds they glared at each other, a silent battle of demand and refusal.

_You said you didn't want to lose me._

It was never spoken, but it hung in the air above the glares.

Then finally the king grunted and made a dismissive motion with his hand.

"Then take him back to Haven at once," Damas said, disgust apparent in every word.

Jak held back a sigh of relief and merely nodded.

"Thank you," he muttered.

The wasteland king opened his mouth but paused. In the end he just scoffed and shook his head.

"Make it quick," he said and turned to leave.

Nobody had expected Daxter to be able to stand so soon, but now he sprung to his feet with a loud snort, one absentminded hand grabbing and holding the blanket wrapped around his body. And for the first time he actually stood up straight.

"Hey now, master Sand, you don't hafta-"

"Dax!"

Jak's warning snarl cut Daxter off, as did the calloused hand on the bony shoulder. The redhead turned to his friend with a protest on his lips… but it died. He blinked.

And Jak blinked.

Sig looked at them for a moment before he broke the silence with a bark of laughter. Surprised by the sudden change of atmosphere, Damas turned around.

He stood completely still, not moving a muscle as he studied the new situation. Then he smirked.

The frozen scene lasted until finally Daxter's hand came up, hesitated only for half a moment, and landed in Jak's blond-green spikes.

"Well aren't you a cute little thing?" Daxter said, grin wide enough to nearly split his skull.

Because for their gazes to meet he had to look down just the slightest bit, and Jak had to look up just the slightest bit.

The silence stretched for another second.

"… what the f…" finally made it past Jak's lips.

Sig's hand landed on his shoulder in a mock gesture of sympathy.

"Don't glum over on us now, cherry," Sig said. "You're still taller'an that green dwarf, right?"

He might have received a punch if Jak had not been busy batting Daxter's hand out of his hair, to the sound of nothing short of insane laughter from the redhead.

Two hours later, on the air train, Daxter was still laughing, but at least tried to cover his mouth from time to times when he caught Jak's eye.

But despite fuming because of the huge smirks his best friend fired off at him, Jak just couldn't really feel anything but relived.

* * *

'

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Daxter.

'

This rocks. Lemme repeat that. This rocks!

Not only am I very much still in control of my _Among the Living_ MasterCard, I got three feet added to my height with no charge. Aaand I'm taller than Jak.

This is where I practice my evil laugh. Hide the children, the Daxternator is loose, uncut and unabridged.

I'm taller than Jak. _I_ am _taller_ than _Jak_. I ain't _ever_ seen anything like that look on his face. Ever. Mwehehe.

And I ain't _ever_ gonna let him hear the end of this.

'

End Introspection.

'


	11. Safety measures

Chapter 10, A Safe Place

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Sig.

Somethin' happened.

Well sure, something oughta happened since we've got a redhead where there used to be a rat.

But I know Jak, an' there's somethin' in his eyes that's been stuck since he and Daxter got back. Cherry's outta it. Don't think I ever saw 'im that bushed. Sure, if half of what they- Daxter said's true, then I can't blame 'im. Though I think there was somethin' he left out about the fight with the tin can. But I ain't gonna dig in it. Jak'd spill it if I needed to know, if he wanted me to. If I don't dig in their business, they won't sniff 'round mine. Hate to say that, 'cause they're still my cherries. But I didn't like that interrogation trip.

Ain't just that Jak's dead beat, though. When we were in the air train he dozed off after a while, but up till that he was eyeballing Daxter like a monk would an artifact. 'Course, shit happened back there. If Jak thought chili pepper was dead I can't blame 'im. Don't like it though.

Always thought he let it show too much sometimes, caring 'bout the lil' guy. And now he was lookin' like he thought somethin' would come outta the walls and bite Daxter's head off. If it didn't show before, anyone'll be able to tell 'less he cuts it. Can't run around with a weak point on his forehead like that. Or his shoulder. Just that Daxter ain't on his shoulder no more. So if nobody figured it before they'll hafta be blind to miss it now. It shows he ain't just a pet, now.

An' I'm wondering if somebody already saw it.

Gotta trust Jak to figure what's best though. Lookin' at him I guess he will. Sure hope so. Tryin' to keep Daxter alive out there just got tougher. Bringing 'im back out again just wouldn't cut it.

But I gotta admit, I had to smile back there when Jak nodded off. They'd been beside each other on the other bench in there, Daxter jabbering away o'course. Jak oughta be able to fall asleep in a stampede.

Anyway, when Daxter noted that his audience was dropping, I thought he'd poke Jak to attention. Didn't think he'd go "shoulder duty!" and pull golden boy's head at himself like that. An' I sure didn't think Jak'd go for it either, dozing off with his cheek on chili pepper's shoulder. An' Daxter just kept blatherin' on after that.

Learn somethin' each day, I suppose.

Or it's just that somethin' bad happened and they're clinging.

End Introspection.

* * *

As usual the city offered no more of an uplifting sight than usual, with the smoke rising from the industrial section and precursors knew what oozing towards the sky from the metal head den. Even from the middle of the harbor, the green vapors could be seen as they reflected the sunlight.

If one could have listened to all the dejected grumbles of the blue-clad soldiers and the slow moving citizens in a distance, it would have been beyond anything a man could deal with. They hardly seemed to bother anymore that the war factory was thankfully out of sight and lying in a smoking pile on the fields outside the city.

Still, Daxter hopped out of the air train with a huge smile stuck on his face, drawing curious looks from the guards and citizens in the immediate area – at least when Sig and Jak followed, the latter yawning and stretching even as he stepped into the sunlight.

The air train itself took off again behind the men that had stepped out of it, taking off towards the Freedom HQ. There was still the wounded driver of the last, wrecked train to take care of.

Compared to the subdued atmosphere, the redhead seemed to have been inserted from an entirely different world. There was pep and energy in his little sidesteps and leaps that many probably couldn't even remember ever feeling up to in this cold city.

Of course, Daxter's getup helped adding to the clownish appearance, as all that could be offered had been Jak's change of clothes. The dark blue shirt with its hacked off sleeves sagged around the thinner body like a sack, and they had been forced to make a new hole in the belt so that it could be tightened around Daxter's thinner waist.

As for the use of the belt, there had been some very smug complaints about the pants being too short, followed by a loud complaint about getting smacked over the head.

The colors didn't suit him at all, but failed to dimmer Daxter's aura of delight.

It was no wonder he drew attention to himself, and Jak more or less consciously stepped closer to him when a few guards paused to look closer at this intruder in the gloom. Even knowing they should all be faithful to at least Torn, judging from their screams during fighting, the blue armor was still too much like what had been red not too long ago. A lot of what the Freedom League guards wore today had simply been repainted in the lack of resources.

The gloves were still the same, dark and hard.

The guards hardly seemed that interested however, shrugging and continuing on their way after only a moment.

Daxter did not seem to have noticed anything, drawing Jak's attention back to himself with his babbling.

"And hey, you gotta teach me to drive later!" the redhead chirped, pumping a fist into the air.

He had obviously started to recover from suddenly finding himself so much heavier than he had been used to. Not that he was jumping around ottsel-style, but the slouch was definitely getting out of his motions.

Jak just smiled.

"I think you cherries oughta nap first," Sig said, giving the blond a prod on the shoulder that nearly made him fall over.

"Nah, slept in the train," Jak said as he straightened up.

Sig smirked.

"Think you're gonna need more'an that if you wanna keep up with chili pepper," he said.

Pointing with his thumb he brought attention to the fact that Daxter had made it to the bridge leading towards town already. Jak had to blink, wondering if he was just sleepy and a bit slow on the uptake. Either that or Daxter was moving really damn quick.

The redhead turned around, noticing the attention. Grinning, he jogged back with long, quick strides. Just for show he took a leap forwards during the last few feet, obviously with the plan to land in front of Jak and Sig.

He hit the pavement just behind them after flying past between them, the two warriors sidestepping out of the way without even thinking. There was a silent half second before Daxter pirouetted around, surprise as apparent on his face. Even Sig raised a brow.

"… cool!" Daxter finally concluded, grinning again.

He crouched down, holding out his arm to about the height where his head used to be when standing on the ground in ottsel size.

"Figures though, for sure! I jumped from here…" the hand moved up to ottsel head-height above Jak's shoulder, "to here six times a day for years. Gotta do wonders for a guy's legs!"

Gravity and relocation of muscles disregarded, of course. But thinking back on it, Jak did realize that it had taken a while before Daxter had been able to jump all the way up to the shoulder instead of having to climb up an offered arm. But then, considering the change of size it was apparent that not all that ability possibly could have been transferred in the second transformation. If so, Daxter should have been able to jump onto rooftops. The casual leap may have been longer than he had calculated, but only by a foot or two.

"Flex," Jak said.

The simple command did not for a second confuse Daxter. He simply bent his arm upwards and curled the hand into a fist. The bulge of muscles failed to impress as the arm still deserved few other titles than "scrawny", but still…

Jak reached out and curled his thumb and middle finger around Daxter's upper arm. In Sandover, this test had always ended with him able to touch his fingertips, but now there was a space of about an inch.

From the look on Daxter's face, he took full note of this difference. Wriggling free from Jak's grip he threw both arms up.

"And for my next trick…!" he turned and aimed a finger at Jak's chest, "… I'll beat you in wrestling, lil' guy! Ow! Stop smacking me!"

"You oughta stop givin' him bullets, then," Sig said.

But it was hard to tell if either of the young men heard him, what with Daxter's head locked under Jak's arm and the hero mercilessly ruffling the bush of blond-red hair despite the loud protests – earning them more odd looks than Daxter alone could have. Especially from the random people who may have recognized Jak as the legendary psycho. Sig just shook his head and rolled his eyes. Kids these days.

Though he couldn't help but grin a bit.

They split up soon after that. Sig declared that he was going to meet somebody at the other end of the harbor and headed off while the trouble twins hopped into the nearest two-seat hover and took off towards the city.

Daxter kept talking, of course. While listening to the babble, Jak rolled his shoulders and grimaced at the low pop. The entire day was starting to get the better of him, so much that despite the nap in the air train he still felt tired. His entire body was heavy and sore, screaming for more rest. So much that he had to seriously consider not attempting to make it back to the Freedom HQ until a proper night's rest.

It wasn't that he balked at the idea of flying through a minor battle field with enemies hiding in every other corner – he had done it before on less sleep and feeling even worse. But then he had not almost lost Daxter forever only mere hours ago. And Daxter hadn't been a walking target.

On the other hand Jak did not feel comfortable with the thought of staying the night in what had been a war zone just a couple of weeks ago, but as they got closer to the city things seemed to be calmer than usual. With the war factory down the KG bots' numbers had naturally dwindled, and no metal heads were in sight. They may just be planning something, though.

It was a pretty easy flight however. One may have argued that this was largely thanks to the much diminished traffic ever since the start of the war. In his rather tired state Jak just might have been put a bit too much of his precious focus into his friend. Still, they made it to the edge of the harbor, and the Naughty Ottsel, without any incidents.

Dax, of course, still found reason to grumble about the ruined ottsel sign. Even if there was no longer any likeness between it and him. It was a question of species' pride, he declared at the sight of Jak's amused look. The unenlightened wouldn't understand. And damn straight it was just like the underpants thing.

This comment, however, caused Daxter to spiral off on another tangent.

"Gods, I can't _wait_ to get some better clothes!" he said while Jak parked the vehicle.

He took a pause from climbing onto the ground, long enough to pull at the tunic – which pretty much swallowed him up entirely. The cloth ballooned out in a cone form from his pinch.

"No offense bud, I owe ya for the loan, but this is ridiculous. Cripes, what're you takin'? Your bod's outta this world."

He hopped onto the ground, straightening up to snerk at Jak's raised eyebrows. Daxter waggled his own in a mock-suggestive way.

Utterly oblivious.

And still as oblivious he stretched, then suddenly pulled back and pinched his nose.

"Sheez, I need a shower." Then he thought it over. "No, _you_ need a shower. And a washing machine."

He still grinned however, proving that he really was not that bothered. It could be questioned if he even could feel any scent at all for the moment, considering how much his sense of smell must have been reduced in the change. But complaints like those were a rite of passage for returning to Haven.

Jak smirked, even though every word Daxter had spoken in the last two minutes had a painful twinge. He could just hope it didn't show.

"But anyway!"

Daxter spun towards the bar/HQ and spread his arms as if he wanted to embrace it.

"Civilization! And you know what?"

He twirled back and grinned widely, moving a hand to his stomach.

"I remember how it feels to crave a steak again."

Laughing at that simple fact with utter elation, Daxter stepped backwards towards the entrance. Jak plucked the key from a pocket and tossed it to his friend, getting a victory sign back when Daxter successfully caught the small piece of metal in mid-air. Still grinning the redhead turned it in the lock before pushing the door to the Naughty Ottsel open. Jak followed close behind him.

Considering that the war was still very much real, it did not really fit to call the place a "bar", it still retained the look of an operating headquarter. The holoprojector in the center of the room still buzzed lazily, maps covered most of the table. But per the owner's loud demands from an earlier visit, the counter had at least been cleaned and a few bottles of liquor set back on the shelves behind it. To this day Jak still wasn't sure how Daxter had gotten even that far in the argument.

Something about retaining the feel of the place and angering Juju gods.

Though that couldn't have much impact on the higher-ups in town. Speaking of which…

As it turned out, the Naughty Ottsel wasn't completely empty. Nor was the counter clean as per the request, because there was a map and a collection of papers scattered across it. These were being studied by a familiar shape behind the counter – for sure, his position only had to do with not wanting to keep his back towards the windows – who by the disturbance of the door opening looked up and narrowed his eyes at the intruders.

While he did recognize the second man to enter, it was obvious that a very annoyed question about the redhead hung in the air. Like a bad stench.

This question was however mowed over by another, quicker.

"Torn? What the heck are you doing back here?" Daxter blurted, frowning in defense of his territory.

Of course, this earned him a Glare of Doom. One even worse than usual.

"Who the hell are you?" the commander demanded.

He must have recognized the voice, but his brain probably couldn't wrap itself around the idea. Which, without a doubt, made him even more annoyed.

Daxter's grin nearly split his face, but Jak got in-between them before his best friend could earn any more reasons to get murdered in his sleep.

"It's Dax, Torn."

A naked brow twitched only the slightest bit.

"Are you drunk?" Torn sharply asked.

"Oh come on!" Daxter loudly complained, throwing up his arms and fire off one heck of an eyeroll for further emphasis, "why do ye of little faith fill up the world? There's nothing wrong with the blond shorty- ow! Jaak!"

Torn watched the two of them in the brief mock argument. When their attention returned to him, he was leaning his tattooed forehead on three fingertips and glaring at the map most decisively.

"I don't care. I don't want to know," he growled without looking up.

He had, obviously, been forced to make his brain make the connection to the familiar voice and the crazy-ass claims.

"Party pooper," Daxter huffed. His pout only lasted so long however, as he soon looked over his shoulder, grinning again and beckoning to Jak with two fingers. "C'mon Jak, let's blow this popsicle stand."

Both of them could feel Torn's glare follow their very motion as they crossed the floor and passed him, disappearing through the door behind the counter.

Behind the door was, on the left side a staircase leading to the second floor, and on the very short right and the path towards the staircase a cramped little corridor with another door straight ahead. That one led to the bar kitchen.

Daxter, however, turned right towards a smaller door facing the stair. Throwing it open with wider motions than he may have intended, he stepped inside and fumbled for the light button on the wall. A smell of old clothes and dust met them.

A moment later a naked light bulb flashed on, sending its sharp light across the storeroom. It had been more frequently used in less warring days, but while remodeling the bar into a HQ Torn seemed to have just had everything that was in the way stashed in here and then closed the door. Jak could swear he saw the ropes and pole-corners of the old wrestling ring behind one of the boxes.

Daxter bothered with no details to the sides. He wormed his way onwards and through the junk and boxes blocking his way, grunting as he tried to make way and throwing glances back when Jak reached past him to remove the heavier obstacles.

When the far back of the room came within sight, Daxter let out a triumphant yelp and shimmied through towards a covered box. He stumbled on a pair of old boots on the floor and tumbled onto the floor before Jak could catch him.

Grumbling for a bit the redhead pushed himself up and flung the top of the box off, revealing a dark jacket and a pair of worn pants carelessly thrown into the container. Under Jak's somewhat curious gaze Daxter carelessly flung those two pieces of cloth out of the way. And the dirty shirt that was beneath those, too.

"People forget crap all the time, y'know, you wouldn't believe the stuff we found some mornings! Sheez, gotta be here… aha!"

Daxter triumphantly unearthed another box placed within the first one, and hidden beneath the clothes. Grinning, he hoisted it up and shuffled around to a more open area before dropping it on the floor. Jak crouched down on the other side of the box, raising an eyebrow.

"Well color me optimistic, buddy," Daxter said, grinning widely as he removed the second lid. "You gotta prepare for the best, even in this joint."

And with that, he pulled out a light, red jacket and held it up for inspection. The sharply cut angles and colors spoke for themselves. Now that the jacket was out of the way, a neatly folded, beige tunic laid on top inside the box. And there was apparently more beneath that.

Jak smiled his approval, and didn't say a thing – the implication seemed to be that the clothes had been successfully pilfered from forgetful guests. Would probably suit them right in Daxter's view, for being such asses half the time. Therefore, Jak didn't say a word about the fact that the clothes Daxter pulled out of the box were obviously new. Well, that finally explained the occasional little strut the ottsel had taken on his own in more peaceful times.

"Aha-HA!"

With that half-crazed, triumphant cackle, Daxter pulled out a pair of blue pants from the depths of the box. The look of triumph was simply too much and Jak sat back, silently chuckling as his best friend all but snuggled with the precious piece of clothing.

"Soft underpants?" Jak finally said, rocking forwards to support his chin in hand, elbow on knee.

For that, he got a flabbergasted look of mock-shock.

"Whaat? Do I hear a twinge of doubt, buddy boy? Sorry to break yer pink dreams, babe, but I've got it all covered!"

Daxter's hand dove back into the box and after some digging, he triumphantly produced a triple pack of underwear – still lovingly wrapped up in transparent plastic.

By the time Daxter's attention returned to his best friend, Jak had managed to completely kill off the wince.

He really, really wished Daxter would stop expressing himself like that, and with so many playful pet names. More than ever, at least.

"I sure hope that everything fits," Daxter said. A pause, and his grin melted into the most devious look of smugness there had ever been. "After all, didn't know I'd get this tall! Hey, no!"

He recoiled and squirmed backwards through the mess around them both, chattering protests between fits of laughter as he held up his hands in defense.

As Jak plowed after his friend, there was a voice in the back of the hero's mind screaming that this was a very bad idea, especially if he ended up pinning Daxter down among all the rubble – something that seemed like an alarmingly real possibility, and not even one caused intentionally. The floor was a minefield of things to stumble on, it would be enough with either of them making a mistake to send him sprawling over Daxter.

Another voice, on a more basic level, smirked that it was a very, very interesting possibility.

Most of Jak was, in an alliance with both of these voices, very aware of the fact that Daxter had come alarmingly close to the far back wall of the small room. Still laughing and shrieking protests and comments about height without cessation, blue eyes twinkling beautifully with mirth. But he was running out of places to go.

In the end, if Jak was truly honest, he would have done nothing but at the most tickle Daxter mercilessly. Any other possibility would damage the laughter, and he wasn't so blunt. It was just his darker side plotting other things, the side he knew better than to trust outside of battle.

It did not matter much, however, as the door was suddenly flung open.

"_Daxie_?"

Jak repressed the instant wish to go Dark on everything behind his back. He also repressed the sigh and simply stopped advancing.

Daxter hit the ground, still too caught up in laughter to do anything but giggle for a couple of seconds. But then he forcefully cleared his throat and looked up, past Jak. At the vision of blonde hair and generous curves, sweetness and gooey nicknames, who tried to make her way through the rubble. And he grinned like a moron.

"Hiya Tessy!" he cheerfully said.

He pouted for a second.

"Torn spilled the beans, eh?" he complained. "An' I wanted to surprise you!"

"I couldn't believe it!" Tess chirped, carefully stepping over the traps on the floor. She caught herself and bounced up straight, waggling a finger. "Well, I believed you saying you weren't always fuzzy!"

Jak got to his feet, struggling to smile. But Tess only saw the back of his head, and he couldn't see Daxter looking at him now. So he just pulled the grinning redhead to his feet and stepped aside to let him pass, hand still clasped in Daxter's to steady him. But then Jak let go, handing over his best friend to Tess.

It was what Daxter wanted. There was nothing else to it.

And Tess practically _flounced_ him, commenting on his height (causing a few cackles), fluffing his shock of hair with dainty fingers and all but grooming him. And Daxter laughed, playing along with boyish delight.

Jak watched in silence, lips numbly stretched. But when the cutesy nicknames the happy couple threw at each other crossed his pain level, he grabbed a tunic from the forgotten box of cloths.

"Spare me," he said and flung the piece of clothing over Daxter's head. "Get changed, Dax."

The redhead tore the tunic off and spun on his heel, pouting. But the smile was still in his eyes.

"Party pooper. Okay, fine, out with you, out, out!"

He shooed both Jak and Tess out of the cramped room and pulled the door shut, grinning a promise about returning in five minutes, new and further improved. It made Jak shake his head, fond amusement pulling at the annoyance. He was brought out of his thoughts by Tess touching his arm, too lightly to even cause the panic to bubble to the surface.

She was smiling bright enough to illuminate a dark room.

"You have to tell me all about it!" she said, white teeth showing between full, rosy lips. "I'll be in the kitchen."

And with that she turned and disappeared through the door facing the one leading to the bar. Jak wasn't sure if he had even nodded. But then again, she may not have noticed whether he did, or not.

He growled at himself, shaking his head to pull himself together.

Idiot.

He did not hate Tess. She was as much a friend as Keira, Torn and anyone else. If anything happened to her, he wouldn't hesitate half a second to jump in and save her.

The most important thing was that Daxter was happy. And alive and safe. Tess should be able to help keep him away from the battleground.

Jak gritted his teeth. He did not want to realize it, he hadn't wanted to realize it.

But Daxter wouldn't be anywhere near safe if Erol as much as knew where he was, now. One single little mistake would be all it took, and Jak already knew he could make those. He would just have to make do alone.

Alone.

He was still trying to keep himself convinced of this when Daxter flung the door open and pranced out all dressed up, even wearing a new pair of boots. The pants were a little too short, but other than that the clothes seemed to fit him very well.

Jak had to smile, earning a triumphant cackle.

"I know, I know, babe," Daxter said, winking. "C'mon, don't drown me in the compliments."

He slapped Jak's shoulder without thinking, then froze instantly when the lips above the goatee immediately tightened.

Jak let out a quick breath, forcing relaxation. Daxter watched him still, apprehension cutting through the joy. But when Jak shook his head in silent assurance, the redhead quickly picked up as to put a band-aid on the mistake.

"But keep 'em coming, can't get too much of a good thing. Come on, big guy, tonight we're celebrating!"

He was moving towards the kitchen door, and Jak followed him. The hero's smile was still strained, but he was easing up.

Tess perked up when the door opened, standing by the sink and working on getting a can of beans open for whatever she was planning to throw together for the three of them – and probably Torn, too. This thought had obviously crept into Daxter's mind as well, as he broke up the restarted round of cooing with a not-too annoyed query.

"Now what the heck is Sir Dreadalocks doing back in this joint when me an' Jak worked our asses off trying to get him home, anyway?"

"Oh, just checking on the troops here, they need to know he believes in them," Tess easily said.

"Tell me about it. Bunch'a doom and gloom all canned up and ready to serve. Pff. Good to know we're here to save the day, eh Jak?"

Daxter smirked over his shoulder, and somehow Jak managed not to let it show that the words bothered him.

Maybe he felt a bit worried about the reaction to the slap, or maybe he was just trying to make Jak talk, but the bottom line was that Daxter kept trying to wedge his friend into the conversation for the rest of the cooking session and dinner. It made it bearable in between all the "whiskerpuss" pet names, at least.

The evening saw Torn returning to the Naughty Ottsel after a long couple of hours trying to ease the fear and feeling of gloom among his men – a job that made him feel like liquefying morale and ramming it down their throats may be the only way to raise their chins. They did their best, but their spirits were just about broken. It was downright depressing.

Thus, he felt rather relieved to return to the Ottsel, knowing that at least there was one of his men who did not let the insecure future get the better of him. Speaking of which…

The door was still jingling shut behind Torn as he spoke.

"Jak, I need to talk to you…"

He fell silent and studied the scene before him for a moment, raising his brow. Calmly, Jak just gave him a glance in the dusk of the room. The noisy redhead on his right side did not seem to bother the blond at all.

Finally Torn stepped forward.

"I think he's had enough," he said, clearly annoyed.

"Nah, s'okay."

Jak sipped his own drink, glancing at the crazed Daxter from the corner of his eye.

"He's not drunk until he starts shouting that he loves me," Jak said.

Luckily, Torn was not drinking anything. He still managed to choke pretty well.

After studying Jak's blank face for a few moments, searching for the slightest sign of a lie, the Freedom League's commander sat down on the bar chair beside the blond. The way he planted himself there, the most resolute way that only Torn could use for sitting down – well, to put it in more common terms, he was obviously not going to move for a while.

"This," Torn said, corners of his lips tugging at his cheeks, "I've gotta see."

Jak smirked, turning his head slightly towards Daxter and hoping that his feelings on the matter had not been exposed.

Five minutes later it became alarmingly apparent that the limit was just about reached. Amazing however, how Daxter ,even in his current state, managed to stay with the story he had told Sig – that he had simply fallen off Jak's shoulder and into the chasm in the battle with Erol.

"… and then I juusht grabbed the bashtard'sss leg and made him mishhh!"

Daxter blinked slowly at the giggling Tess, a wide, dreamy smile plastered onto his face.

"Annn' th'fun thing-y-thing ish that thish one'sh trooe… wight Jaak?"

The lady behind the bar had to steady herself by grabbing the counter, lest she would have crashed on the floor in hysterics. For quite a while she had found it increasingly problematic to keep making sure that Daxter had a sip of water or two between the larger gulps of his drinks, and she could no longer handle it.

Shaking his head, Jak slid off his stool and reached for Daxter's shoulder.

"Dax, I think you've had-"

He should have been more ready for it, really, but he had not quite believed that Daxter would be able to move that much in his state. That was why Jak staggered backwards as the full weight of his now overgrown sidekick hit him straight in the chest, lanky arms looping around the muscular neck.

"I looove you, maan!"

Tess hit the deck.

Turning halfway, Jak gave Torn a tired look. The commander sat stock still, a hand pressed so tightly against his mouth that the fingers and cheeks were turning white. The look in his eyes was almost indescribable, but something like "near fatal concentration" seemed the most suitable.

"Yeah, yeah… c'mon, you've had enough, let's get you to bed…" Jak muttered, steering Daxter towards the stair leading to the second floor.

He wondered if that choking sound from below could possibly be-

"Hey!" Daxter grumbled, raising his head and blinking at Jak. "Think tattoo's laffin' at you…"

A hand waved at Jak's face as he smirked, and Daxter narrowed his glazy eyes.

"Go back down an' kick his assh already!"

Jak chuckled.

"Not now, Dax. Gotta get you to bed first," he said.

The sour expression melted away and the redhead bounced his wobbly weight at Jak, not noticing the immediate tension.

"Daaw, you're the besht there ish, baby…" came a drunk mumble.

Jak bit the inside of his cheek.

If Daxter had been sober, he might have noticed that Jak stopped muttering stuff like "I know, I know, come on, this way…" when they got far enough up the stair to be out of earshot.

Then again, if Daxter had been sober he would not have said those things.

He more hung in his friend's grip than anything else, giving Jak a view from above of the drooping ears and shock of red hair. Hands squeezed Daxter's thin shoulders just the slightest bit more.

It seemed so odd, dragging the drunk redhead into the room where they had used to sleep together just a short while ago. While it had been on his mind for a while, Jak pushed aside the thoughts of where they both would sleep from now on. Instead of falling into that trap he focused on flipping on the lamp on the nightstand, then tried to get Daxter to take off his boots. It turned out to be a problematic process for the wobbly one, and ended with him falling onto the bed with the last shoe slipping off his foot. At least it ended well.

With a slight smirk Jak pulled the blanket up to Daxter's chest, but the smile lost all amusement as he straightened up. He stood silent for a moment, watching his motionless friend in the bed.

Then he turned to leave.

A fumbling hand grabbed his wrist, and he turned back in surprise.

"Dax-"

"Don't go…"

The blue eyes were open again, the white of them shimmering in the cold light from the lamp. The words, whispered in a hoarse voice, stirred the surprise to confusion. Jak stood stock still, looking down at Daxter with his eyebrows at their highest perch.

"You're not going 'n'where, 'aight?"

While fully aware that it probably was not what the redhead had in mind, a runaway thought in Jak's head found it necessary to scream about cold facts. Like "you're supposed to be a hero, mister, and heroes _don't_ take advantage of drunk people! Especially not best friends! It's bad enough that you let him get 'I love you, man'-drunk! Shame on you!" and similar.

It took him another moment to wrestle the thoughts aside and form a reply.

"I'm just gonna go talk to Torn-" he started, but fell silent as Daxter shook his head.

"Yur talkin' Jak-speak, ya'know."

Daxter slowly blinked up at the silent blonde. Suddenly he seemed a lot more sober than mere minutes ago. A quite unsettling development.

"Can't stop talkin' Jak-speak, buddy. S'all in yur face."

Sinking feeling starting… now.

Still silent Jak sat down on the bedside, letting his hand rest on the blanket since Daxter still did not let go of his wrist.

And those eyes kept watching him from the dusk. Finally he gave up.

"What did I say, then?" he asked.

But he already knew. Daxter's hand squeezed his wrist.

"You said that I'm gonna be okay 'cause you're not taking me with you anymore."

"Dax…"

Jak sighed, reaching up with his free hand to massage his temples. He ended up rubbing his entire face instead, trying to win time. Trying to think.

"It's different now, Dax. You'll be a walking target. Erol knows."

"Whuz'diffrunt?"

Another sigh. Jak shook his head, looking at his knees for a moment before giving Daxter a stern look in the dusk. Trying to be stern, because he was arguing something he did not even want to believe in himself. Even if he knew it was true.

"He didn't know before, he thought you were just a pet."

"Why'd he play the hostage game with me if he jus' thought that?"

Jak clenched his teeth with another shake of his head. It was enough to make it clear that had he known about Erol's knowledge, Jak never would have brought Daxter anywhere near battle.

The face on the pillow screwed up in a grimace.

"You wouldn't last a second without me an' you know it!"

Jak was about to scoff, when Daxter's pout dropped and he continued speaking, in a far lower voice.

"And y'know… if anything should… y'know…"

A gulp, hand treading across the blanket like a nervous crab until it reached up-

_Coming towards reaching grabbing tearing no no don't touch m-_

Jak bit the inside of his own cheek and forced his gaze to stay on Daxter's face as the long fingers wrapped around the muscular arm, just above the grip already there.

"… happen to you, then it's all gonna go kablooie. And then, I'd rather be with you to the end."

Jak clenched his teeth, feeling very much as if somebody had punched him in the stomach. He looked down, meeting Daxter's stubborn look. He wasn't going to back down.

And deep down, Jak didn't want to be alone.

Silence hung between them for a moment, until finally Jak shook his head.

"Okay then," he said.

A defeated sigh.

"But you better learn to use a gun."

Daxter did not recoil from that demand, but he did not smile either.

"'Kay…" he mumbled, nodding as his eyes began to drift closed, "'ll get Tess to help…"

Oomf.

Jak cringed, but Daxter was already asleep.

The blond sat still on the bedside for a short while, gaze trailing from the sleeping face to the open door. Unseeing, silent. Gritting his teeth, the impulses from the dark eco storming in the back of his mind – warring with the fluttering warnings of the light eco, calling to his senses.

It wasn't like he didn't know what kind of blondes Daxter liked. He just hadn't thought that Tess would be the preferred teacher in combat training too.

He swallowed against the cold feeling in his chest, shaking his head. Finally he glanced back at Daxter. The face looked almost childish now that it was relaxed in sleep, a sliver of teeth poking out from beneath the upper lip. The overbite seemed more accentuated now, when the front teeth were not aided by their companions in a constant grin.

After a while Jak had to realize that Torn probably was starting to wonder where the hell his best man on the front had gone, and stood.

He only got halfway before a weight stopped him, a slack grip tightening unconsciously around his wrist. A low mumble escaped Daxter, but he did not stir.

Jak paused for a moment. Then finally he bent down and carefully pried Daxter's fingers away, placing the hand on the blanket. Fingertips sliding over skin, his and Daxter's alike – he pulled back quickly, gritting his teeth as he turned and walked out.

The door's hinges groaned a little, the grind taking on an annoyingly high pitch just before he stopped it from closing completely. Jak took a suspicious look around before stepping away, walking down the corridor quickly. He had no intention of leaving Daxter alone in such a state for any long period of time.

Torn was waiting in the corridor outside, relaying his orders in his usual court tone. It was nothing new; metal heads had been spotted in the ever-lovingly charming sewers and this, of course, was not popular among the higher-ups.

"If something goes wrong we'll need the sewers as an extra escape route," Torn emphasized. "We can't take chances at this point."

Jak raised an eyebrow, accompanied with half a grin. Of course, Torn chose to not acknowledge the existence of the silent "go wrong? Now that I'm here?" look. The business remained, Torn wanted the sewers cleaned out and he wanted it done yesterday.

It was a quick diversion, but Jak still felt that it was long enough and turned to more important matters as soon as he could.

When he returned to the room, he took another look around to be on the safe side. But the room had no windows – there weren't even any in the corridor outside. Krew had used this place for meetings and hiding people he did not want seen from the outside. There may have been some rusty hinges now after a year of little care, but that was all. Enemies shouldn't be able to know, or get in easily. It should be safe.

It would bloody well be.

Daxter had abandoned his original position of lying on his back, and had curled up in a sort of fetal position – not looking quite right, though. It looked like he was trying to curl further than his new body allowed, into a pose that had become natural to him in his past shape.

There was no way Jak could keep from smiling at that.

He reached out and carefully pushed at Daxter's shoulder and knee covered by the blanket, unfolding the gangly body to save it discomfort later for having slept too long in such a constricted position. Daxter muttered something like a protest in his sleep, but didn't wake up. When Jak started to straighten up however, Daxter's hand fumbled after him mindlessly. Probably looking for the familiar pillow.

Curiously – at least, he told himself it was curious – Jak let the fumbling hand grasp his fingers, sluggishly dragging his hand up to Daxter's face. The tug stilled when Jak's knuckles brushed a soft cheek.

Daxter seemed perfectly content.

For a moment, Jak just stood there with a faint, and a little sad, smile on his face. Then he looked around, only half consciously as he kicked off his boots and crept onto the bed, turning off the lamp. The dip in the mattress made Daxter scoot a little closer, murmuring something again.

Just to keep him safe.

But that wasn't the only reason Jak laid awake for quite a while, listening to Daxter's breathing in the dark and feeling the warmth of the wiry body through the blanket between them.

* * *

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Torn.

I hate losing. Detest it. More importantly it's not something that can be afforded by anyone in Haven City right now. As if it ever was.

The important thing is that we lost one of our most important men at the start of the war. I wouldn't say that Jak can win our war for himself, but he's far too valuable not to have around.

I wonder how Veger expected to save the people by wiping out half the army. Dividing our forces was putting the entire city into a suicide situation. As if it wasn't enough that he sent our ace into the wasteland to die. Was he going to have the priests fight the metal heads?

Bah. I don't care. The important thing is that we're still alive, and with Jak alive there's a greater hope than two months ago.

He had no way of contacting us and we had no way of knowing whether he was dead or alive, for several weeks. Sig let us know, and helped us connect with Jak's new communicator. Not that it helped much when he refused to come back and help us at first.

Can't blame him. I want to, but I really can't. And I think none of us are really good at trying to make it up to him. I've been trying these last weeks but it hurts my face trying to stay that friendly.

Though it's even more unpleasant to feel the damn guilt for not stopping Veger in the first place. It's something we've all got to pay, from me to the Shadow and everyone in between. Ashelin isn't feeling so well after dissolving the council. It felt good at first, for all of us, but then she's got to deal with being a tyrant. And what then, when there's peace? A new council, full of bootlickers who won't bend to a corrupt priest or whatever nutcase the world spits at us next?

It may not matter in the end, but the one we had wasn't completely under Veger's spell. Not everyone voted yes on the goddamn "toss Jak out" bill. But we have enough shit to deal with now, too much to have him in any sort of power. For that, to keep us all safe, Ashelin had to sacrifice democracy.

I wouldn't admit it, but there's that part of me that wonders if she'll finally understand how I felt, when I sold out the Underground.

But then, the rest of me only wants to know if she'll ever really forgive me.

Anyway, for now we have a war to fight. Tomorrow we'll hopefully have new things to lose.

End Introspection.


	12. Dawn

Chapter 11, The Day After – Dawn

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Daxter.

Jak's too much of a busybody, I tell ya. He's always been like that, worrying too much. Sometimes, I think we'd better tie him up or something to make him sit down and chill the freck out. Gawd. Okay, so maybe sometimes it's a good thing that he worries. Worries like "hmm, I haven't seen my best pal in five minutes, better go check so that he isn't hanging down a cliff or something".

Not that that ever happened. In Haven. I got real good at climbing after getting the fuzz.

Eh.

And oh yeah! Considering the improvements of my gorgeous self that we've seen so far, I really wanna check if there's anything more. Some muscles are neat. I wanna know if I can handle more climbing and stuff since last I was tall. Hehe.

But… yeah. Jak. Dang. Back in the desert, he sure couldn't let the music keep playing, now could he? Now I love me some attention, but I'd be happier if we could all focus on the important stuff.

There really wasn't any reason to fret like that about my scars, dammit. Really. Not like there was anything he could do about them. All well and over with, and I didn't want to think about any of it right then.

Scars… really don't matter. They don't hurt anymore.

… crap.

Well, ah… maybe I'm not one to talk. But really, what the two of us have ain't for comparing. He's got me… beat… there.

Okay, fine. Maybe I didn't handle things so peachily when I saw his "new and improved" self shirtless for the first time, either.

That was pretty soon after we'd gotten back together, just after fixing the little water problem they were having in the slums. Good ol' Torn gracefully allowed us use of the shower in the Underground HQ after that.

Considering that I had been working with nothing but rain water for quite a while, I wasn't gonna complain about that. But I kinda may have missed that Jak hesitated, because of that.

Think he said something? Him? Tactful Timmy? Yeah, right. He just went with it without a word, walking into the cramped little bathroom just after me and closing the door behind us.

And I was still in the middle of a rant about finally getting cleaned, when Jak said my name all soft and weird, making me turn around and almost shut up for the sheer odd-factor. Y'know, going all "what?", and stuff. 'Cause Jak just don't talk that way. And he kept up the weirdness by looking at me like he was almost begging for something – providing he'd ever beg for anything, which he doesn't… but as close as it gets – but wouldn't open his damn mouth and gimme a warning before he thumbed his shirt and then ripped it upwards.

How'd'ya think I reacted? He knows nothing about finesse, it can be really, ah… painful.

"_Holy shit!"_

It's… worse now, I tell ya. But that was the first time I saw it. Couldn't in the prison 'cause I was busy looking around for guards and stuff while he broke the world record time in getting changed.

But then I had to see it.

An' Jak, he just stood there, shirt hanging like a limp rag in one numb hand and the other hand splayed over his chest like he wanted to hide it when it was too late. Looking at me, but eyelids hung low and with that expression I hate, the one from the prison when he just lost the horns.

Too late for me too, 'cause I'd already screwed up again, shrieking like a freakin' girl an' recoiling. Double-screwing, for the record book. I figured that look from two seconds earlier was meant to signal something really close to "pleasedon'tfreak". Yup. Reached that conclusion a wee bit late. But hey, don't blame me… I can't be expected to read his every thought, not if he doesn't give me enough clues to work with.

Huh.

That excuse doesn't help as much as I wish it would. Not when he had that look on his face again.

I screwed up by reacting like that, when he hoped I could take it with something more like a wince, I suppose. But, hell, he'd just flung out at me just how much I screwed up in the first place.

It's not pretty, people. On the front, he's just one big scar, so many you can't tell 'em apart. That's it. That's why he doesn't want even Sig to see him shirtless.

They were all tidy then, before he'd gotten scratched by a few dozen metal heads in a few bad turns, but… that was worse, 'cause you could see those first ones were made while he was tied down. All those ordered, thin lines and curves carved out in his skin, an' I don't think all of them were done for science. I don't think a doctor would need to, say, cut a nipple in half.

Eugh. Ewewew...

Didn't help that he still had bruises from being beaten up, on top of everything.

Can you blame me for jumping? It's damn _freaky_!

B-but… I was the one who ran away and let them do that to him.

_H-he_ was right about that.

I… can blame Jak all I want for not cluing me in earlier, but it's not his fault I've got these lovely mental images of Erol leaning over him with a scalpel in hand.

Okay. I'm gonna have nightmares. Great.

I always thought I wa-wasn't useless to Jak. Even when everyone else said I was just good for giving the stray cats some exercise, Jak would still let me know they were wrong. Like back then by the shower, when I got myself in gear again somehow…

"_Cripes, you're built like a brick!"_

A second or two too late and it wasn't a perfect correction, but it got him to relax a little. At least 'nough to throw the shirt aside, and paw through his hair. I could've hopped on his shoulder and I wanted to, but I didn't want him to think I was scared to look at him. Though I was. Freaky. Freaky, freaky, freaky. Brr.

But that's included in that promise I made, an' never told him about. I've screwed up so many times, but I ain't gonna let him down ever again if I can help it. There're things that really make it worth it, no matter how freaky things get. Like Jak smiling and the ways he shows me I'm a-okay in his book. Like back then.

I'm not gonna screw up that bad again. I want to make sure he's alright. An' I'm gonna do it too, 'cause nobody else takes care of him like I do.

Even if I do think he needs a gal.

End Introspection.

* * *

When Daxter woke up, the first inclination creeping into his misty brain was to get up on all four paws and stretch from the tip of his ears to his tail.

He learnt pretty quick that that didn't work, as he flopped back down with a sluggish grunt of surprise. Still too sleepy to be properly confused, he just rolled over and yawned instead.

There was no chuckle, only a smile. And still, he was aware of it even before he cracked an eye open and tried to focus on the bluish blur with yellow on top.

Jak was sitting on a rickety chair, leaning forwards slightly and resting his arms across his knees. The smile reminded Daxter that something good had happened, but it took another few moments for his drowsy and somewhat hungover brain to catch up with what it was.

Bit by bit the information his body was giving him started to give enough hints, along with his mind kicking up a couple of memories from last night.

Another moment and Daxter raised a hand, looking it over. A sleepy grin spread across his face – realizing that it was no dream turned out to be just as nice the second time. Especially since there was no metal-pede on the prowl now.

He let the hand flop down on the blanket and turned his head, still grinning though it softened further from the sleepiness. Heavy eyelids and hair floating above him on the pillow in a cascade of blond and warm red.

"Hey," he said.

His voice was huskier than he'd thought, so he shut his eyes in a frown, clearing his throat. Which made him miss Jak blinking as if he was just snapping out of some transfixion.

"How're you feeling?" Jak asked.

Daxter blinked sleepily, wondering for a second about the odd note in his friend's voice. However, it was too vague, and he was too drowsy, to really dwell on it.

"Mm…"

He tried moving a little again, doing a mental body check. Heavy, gritty muscles, a dry throat, a none-too pleasant taste in his mouth, and a bit of a headache prickling along the sides of his head. He'd felt it all for a while, but it was the first time since he woke up that he gave it a quarter.

Yep.

"Like I don't deserve to," Daxter grumbled, moving a hand to his forehead.

From the corner of his eye he saw Jak's hand raise up, but it fell back before it came halfway. The display of instincts stretched his lips.

"'m too big to lie on y'r lap now," he said, causing Jak to snort.

It was an amused snort though, even if the hero did glance aside. Heaving a sigh, Daxter rubbed two fingers between his eyebrows.

"But I'm kinda missing your scarf," he murmured. "This ain't too bad, though, so lower the alert level."

Jak snorted again, but softer this time.

It was true though, Daxter had to conclude as he idly tugged at the blanket dragged up to his shoulder. It didn't smell like Jak's scarf. That, which certainly didn't smell like roses considering how often the blond got around adding it to the wash bin, always had been a refuge for a small body wrung out by a hangover.

It had always been the one good bit in feeling so bad that death seemed like a mercy, to be able to curl up and hide from the light and outside sounds inside a warm, red cocoon. Listening to the muted clinking as Jak cleaned his morph gun, knowing that a big hand would leave the work and reach for a water flask or food at the slightest notion.

Something about Jak's scarf in the embarrassing sense flashed by in Daxter's mind, something from yesterday. He never got around sorting out the memories right then, however, as Jak started to move.

"I'll see if there's anything for breakfast," the blond said, standing up.

As he did, he almost knocked his head on the lamp dangling from the ceiling, but though it hung a little too low it was not enough for him to ever be in any real danger.

It was a pretty cheap lamp – just a short, wide tube with simple arrangements to keep a light bulb stuck in the middle. Once upon a time it had been painted red, but the color was flaking and the dull metal beneath showed.

Nothing impressive, probably just placed there by somebody who was bored out of their skull and just happened to find something god-awfully ugly to spice up a secret room with.

But when Daxter looked at the lamp, his stomach suddenly lurched.

Cold metal and sharp red, hovering above Jak's head.

Before he could think Daxter had thrown off the blanket and swung his feet over the bedside, but when he started to stand he hit a full stop.

The room rolled over as his body presented the complaints about having been served too much alcohol last night, and he fell back with a groan.

"Dax?"

He was already cradling his head in both hands, but another hand was added to the hold in the blink of an eye. Yet another one grasped his shoulder, Jak's arm a firm weight against his back. The mattress dipped beside him and the familiar warmth and smell of the blond moved in, helping to steady him.

"Ehehe…" Daxter muttered. A weak, sheepish chuckle.

He felt like an idiot for the reaction. Just what had he been about to do anyway? It was just a frickin' lamp. Just a frickin' lamp…

… this time.

His brain reeled a quick and desperate prayer to high heaven that Jak would not ask what that had been about. Reason, reason, reason, _quick_! Jak was breathing in to speak.

"Bathroom?" Daxter hissed.

He gave himself a mental pat on the back when there was a mildly amused snort, letting him know that Jak was thinking "what, nothing else?".

Oh yeah, baby, perfect save! Though Daxter had to bite back a relieved sigh.

Jak stood, easily hoisting his friend along – thus proving that he was, without a doubt, still the stronger. Even if he was shorter.

Despite making a vague protest about being able to walk on his own, Daxter did not insist when this was ignored. He was wobbly enough, even if he started to get the hang of it halfway through the short walk. The hangover wasn't too bad, not one of his worst by far, but it seemed to have reset his brain on the fact that he should still be an ottsel. His recovered body felt as alien as the first few minutes after standing up for the first time, back in the cave.

It was okay though. Nobody else saw it, and Jak didn't seem to mind supporting him.

When they reached the bathroom door however, Daxter dragged it open – somewhat clumsily, but successfully – and staggered in on his own. There wasn't any room for more than one person in there, for starters. Bracing himself against the washbowl he crouched for a moment, but when Jak touched his back Daxter straightened out. A quick grimace, then he rubbed the back of his neck and brightened again.

"Okay, that's all folks!" he said, waving a dismissive hand at Jak, "get going, we're taking a thirty minute break for coffee and refreshments."

His voice was still hoarse, but he made it through by clearing his throat a second time.

Jak obviously did take the hint, but he still lingered for a few seconds to make sure Daxter wasn't going to fall over. Once he felt certain about that, the blond headed off – hopefully to find some of that coffee.

Daxter hit the light switch and pulled the door shut. The lock softly clicked, but he hardly registered the sound as he sunk down on the toilet lid. Crouching again, but deeper and with no intention of straightening up very soon. More like curling in on himself, gritting his teeth as his hands crawled up their opposite arm and his fingers dug into his muscles.

_He'll tell Jak he'll tell Jak he'll tell Jak oh shit shit shit…_

Daxter's eyes ground shut and he shook his head in an attempt to clear it.

He had managed to avoid thinking about it yesterday because of everything that had happened. But now he was sleepy and had too much of a hangover to have his mind only focused on the good stuff – or the less bad stuff. Nothing to block it out anymore.

_Shadows are bad. Especially big shadows._

_But much worse is that metal glint and the tower of cold red and the broken face and the smirk, smirk- HOLY SHIT-_

_He doesn't think. Leaps over Jak's neck and bolts over the sandy cave floor get away get away get-_

_JAK!_

Daxter bit his lip hard.

If Jak started thinking about this, he might realize that really, it should be very difficult…

_He stumbles, slips on the sand and rolls, turning, staring, through the thunder in his own head hearing every word._

"_Are you running away again?"_

_That thing stands closer now one metal foot raised cold steel and crimson above blond-green hair JAK ISN'T MOVING no nononoNO!_

… for Erol to catch…

_Hardly feels the sand and rocks beneath his paws can't even remember moving leaps shrieking claws against steel cruel eyes blink but they're hard too hard there's no blood it's USELESS but I'M NOT LEAVING HIM BEHIND AGAIN-_

… something as small and nimble…

_The eyes narrow amused oh crap- cold fingers snap around tiny body trapped can't move cold cold nonono Idon'twanttodie! JAK!_

… as Daxter.

He hunched further, head dipping low enough to touch his knee. He could still feel the grip, the crushing chill invading every sense – except his hearing. Another invasion, he wasn't allowed to escape a single word, a single flavor of the smirk digging into his skull flattening every defense couldn't couldn't-

"_Changed your mind since last? After all, you let us-"_

Nononono…

Daxter's stomach lurched and he grit his teeth. Don't throw up, don't throw up. It wasn't true, he hadn't, he didn't!

His eyes stung and he shook his head in sudden fury. There was no way in hell he'd cry. Taking in a deep breath he forced himself to uncoil, eyes still closed.

He could be prepared for a question.

"_Hmm? Oh yeah, I hit my head, out cold for a sec and… wham! Sheez. You need eyes at the back of your head, you know. Grow a pair!"_

Yeah. He had an answer ready if a question was asked. Not a pleasant answer, but more pleasant than the alternative. Knowing Jak he would be beating himself over the head for getting knocked out in the first place – that was well and enough. Daxter didn't want to know how Jak would handle learning how he had been used while unconscious.

Erol would tell him.

A shadowy moan escaped Daxter's lips and his hands curled into fists.

"_After all, you let us have-"_

It wasn't true, _wasn't_! If it were, Jak would… would…

A dry gulp tore at Daxter's throat.

… hate him.

But that wasn't true, there was no way. Not with the way Jak looked at him and talked and smiled. Big hands hoisting him up and helping him to the bathroom. Hands covering his scars like Jak wanted to take the pain away. Dull nails scratching his ears until he fell asleep, curled up above a strong heartbeat. Stuffing a melon in his face for fun.

"_Dax… thanks."_

Yeah.

Daxter slowly relaxed. There was no way. Erol was just spewing bull, nothing else. He didn't know a freakin' thing.

But that didn't take away the fact that the tin can had found and created a bucketful of weaknesses. Crap.

Regardless, Daxter knew that if he didn't get moving soon, Jak's mommy-syndrome would activate and send him looking for his best bud. The normally babbling mouth stretched a little as this realization only proved the point that anything Erol may have planted in Daxter's head was just hot air.

Yeah.

He straightened up and reached for the water tap. With no toothbrush available he'd just have to make do with rinsing his mouth to get rid of the worst party-aftertaste.

There had once been a mirror on the wall above the small basin, but at some point it had either broken or been stolen. Whichever it was, all that was left of it was a faint, square outline on the wall. Daxter dully studied it, rubbing a cold, moist hand against his forehead. He'd have to have a look into the mirror in the bar later. He'd done it yesterday of course, but the novelty was still-

The cold sparked something again and his hand fell to his side, bracing against invisible, huge fingers. The goddamn phantom pain from Erol's grip took every chance it got to come back. A crazy thought leapt through Daxter's irritated and uneasy mind – maybe it would have gone away if Jak had been able to grasp him like that afterwards. Cover the memory of the cold, hard grip with warm and careful hands.

But that wouldn't happen even if it worked. He wasn't an ottsel anymore.

Ow, that stung.

Daxter grimaced at the invisible mirror. He was just being stupid.

Jak wasn't one to seriously consider hurting people who he thought of as friends. Then again, one may question if the man sitting across the table actually counted as a friend. An ally, sure, though their questionable friendship had not hit off too well. Still, the man was without a doubt on the side of good these days, no question there. His tricks and skills had proven invaluable in the battle to hook the divided army back up.

Despite all that, Jak's decision not to get even moderately violent was starting to dwindle.

Unless he stopped combining his blatant mock(?)-flirting with not-too innocently rubbing his boot against Jak's, Jinx was getting a kick in the shin very soon.

Doing business with the crook-gone-remotely-good-guy was always a delicate balance between tolerance and frustration. But it was the best way to actually get any credits in Haven these days. Successful hunts for artifacts in the desert could yield a decent number of valuable items – most of them Jak handed over to Spargus, however. But some were deemed as not having a communal worth, and those he kept – or rather, pawned off for extra credits in both cities. The only trophies he'd kept for himself so far were the pieces of armor he wore.

Jinx may not give an honest buck for the pieces of orange metal, but he was probably happier for the prizes than the rest of the defenders of Haven would. Except for Samos, of course. But here, precursor items belonged in a display case – and even in these times there were people who could appreciate it. Either that or Jinx used the damn things in his own tinkering with explosive substances.

Jak didn't really care. The relics had been buried for years. If they had a say, they'd probably just be happy to be of use again.

But it was, however, questionable if they were worth having to listen to so many comments about his ass. It was just downhill from "heeey there pretty-boy. Freshly hot'n'bothered from the desert?"

Jinx was easier to deal with when there were half a dozen metal heads incoming. Then at least it was possible to drone out his comments.

It was starting to look like the artifacts would have to feel lonely for an annoyingly long time. They just laid their in their heap on the table, seemingly forgotten. And this was so while Jak's boots, unseen as they were, seemed to be so very interesting.

Luckily for Jinx's shin and overall health however, there was a sound from the door behind the bar just when the annoyance was about to tip over into action. Jak looked up, feeling quite grateful to see a gangly shape push the door open.

Daxter staggered into the bar/makeshift HQ, grumbling about coffee. But since he wasn't whining for a headache pill or a swift death, it couldn't be that bad. He did, however, immediately bristle when Jinx poked his head into view and gave the redhead an interested leer.

The ottsel senses detected a scuzzball in the territory. Alert! Alert! Protect all things precious!

Eyes dangerously narrowed, Daxter stomped over and crashed on the sofa opposite Jinx – forcing Jak to scoot further in, away from having the bomb technician face to face.

Jinx scooted after him.

Painful as it was, Daxter had to concede that he was not in the right mood to make up working plans. This would not, however, deter him from launching into a defensive counter attack.

"Ain't it a bit too early in the morning for you to crawl out of the sewer?" Daxter grumbled, rubbing his forehead with his palm.

The counter was as unfazed as it was immediate and high pitched with fake surprise.

"Well spank me up the forest," Jinx said. "The rat really _is_ a _real boy_!"

"More than you ever was…"

Daxter would have grumbled about his secret having leaked out, but saved it. Though he did ponder whether to blame Torn, Tess or Jak for saving Jinx the shock. Drat.

Such thoughts were all derailed when a cup of coffee was pushed into his vision from the side. Unpleasantly black, but in these times milk and sugar were pretty low on the list of concerns for those who collected supplies. They only found coffee because that was one of the few things that kept people going. It had been like that so long that Daxter was almost ready to get used to it. Almost.

But in his current state, even the pitch-blackness of the hot liquid looked wonderfully inviting. He greedily grabbed the cup, then looked up at Jak.

The blond was watching him, one big hand on the table beside the worn coffee pot. As if waiting to see if there would be a request for more.

"You're a good sidekick, sometimes," Daxter said, as cheerfully as his sleepy state allowed.

Jak just snorted at that.

"Heh!" Jinx chortled, leaning forwards on his elbow. "Now, rat-boy, why don't ya let me an' blondie get nice and private again?"

Trying to rattle Daxter. And he had to take the bait of course, though he did so with open eyes.

"Save it, Mr. Sleaze. Your chances are sunk below zero now that I've lost the fur. Right Jak?"

He nudged Jak's arm with his elbow, firing off a playful grin accompanied with lowering eyelids. Trying to rattle Jinx.

Jinx was not the one getting rattled.

Letting out a nasal chuckle and several puffs of air to go with that, the bomb technician leant forwards with an even more lecherous leer. Daxter pointedly leant backwards, wrinkling his nose and holding his cup protectively.

"Y'know, kiddo, I kinda doubt pretty-boy would like the skills you've picked up in the last few ye-"

An ancient lever of some kind slammed into the middle of the table, so hard that the wood was chipped. Jak did not say a word, only glared the other way and removed his hand. With a snort, Jinx plucked the remnants of his cigar from his lips and crushed it in the ash tray.

"Aw, Jakky-boy. You're no fun today."

But despite the sigh, Jinx picked up the lever, scraping the orange metal against the table. The amused, naughty look drained from his eyes as he studied the artifacts one by one, exchanged for a businesslike evaluation.

It was pretty freaky, really.

In this, Jinx worked efficiently, and with a considerable lack of words. Daxter too sunk into silence, leaning back and sipping his coffee. He had to bite his lip to do it, but Jak's message was pretty clear. Sometimes, enough was just enough.

Eventually, Jinx fished a bundle of green notes from some invisible pocket. He thumbed through them for a second, removed one, and threw the rest on the table before Jak.

"Pleasure doing biz with ya, as usual," Jinx said.

The leer was back and secure as he produced a small bag and shuffled the artifacts into it. With one last glance at the duo, grinning a bit extra at Daxter's defensive glare in comparison to Jak's forcefully blank look, Jinx turned and walked out with the bag slung over his shoulder.

"Call me up when you start feelin' lonely, blondie," he said as a goodbye, waving without looking back.

The doorbell tingled.

They were alone again.

Daxter put the cup down hard, but with most of the coffee gone he didn't spill much.

"And the value of the whole building went up a couple thousands!" he declared. "For no extra charge we can throw in a free air conditioner… what?"

Jak's much bigger hand grasped Daxter's, his other hand pushing the tobacco-scented bills into the redhead's grip. Without a word, the bigger hands then withdrew. Letting the meaning sink in.

Money only had a value on good days, but even in these times people were trying to survive, to work. If nothing else, Daxter would be allowed to switch the credits for food tickets. He'd know where. He could take care of himself.

Silent moments trickled by as Daxter looked at the money in his hands, rubbing a thumb against the paper. Uncertain.

Finally, he leant back slightly and crumbled the reward into a pocket. Still not looking up.

Jak clenched his teeth.

"I have to go back, Dax. Damas…"

The thin shoulders fell, but he couldn't have expected anything else. Not when he knew.

"Y-yeah, I got it," Daxter said, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "That's cool, don't worry."

"Torn wants me to clean up the sewers again," Jak continued with a roll of his eyes. Then he looked at Daxter again, touching his shoulder. "I'll just take you to the Freedom HQ first."

Daxter blinked. Then he looked away.

"Oh. Yeah, that's cool."

It sure didn't sound like he thought so, though. Was it just because they would have to move apart so soon?

A tiny, silly speck of hope bobbed up.

"What?" Jak asked, tilting his head.

"Well, y'know…"

The skin on Daxter's neck was probably going to end up angrily red from all that rubbing. He looked up, more teeth than the overbite showing just the slightest bit. And then he started talking, easing up for every word as he dove into his native element of chatter.

"Now, as much as I'm already an expert on shooting thanks to you needing both hands while driving and all that, I ain't planning on lugging anything like your bazooka around. Can't be good for your back, man!"

Jak just raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth stretching to match the motion. By now, Daxter had warmed up.

"So I was gonna ask Tess for help, if she's loaded up with something smaller," he went on. Jak's eyebrow twitched at those first words. "But I thought, it's gonna be different from what I know and even though it's not your thing either, just…"

He looked at Jak, a vision of hopefulness. Like the little freckled kid who knocked on the door, trying to peek beyond the old explorer who opened, while he asked if his best friend was ready to come out and play.

"… since you're here, y'know?"

It was a simple little question, and yet Jak smiled wide and right from the heart. There were a number of things he would have liked to do in reply, but most of them involved touching Daxter. Probably a bad idea, for the moment and for both their sakes. So he held back, just smiling.

Daxter's sheepishness cracked up in a grin.

"Yeah, I know," he said, reaching out to knock his fist into Jak's. "Stupid question."

The leaner fist whipped back and the pointing finger stretched, wagging in the air in front of Jak's face.

"But just so ya know, I'm not so hot on ya skipping out on me like this!" Daxter said. "If I didn't know you're hopelessly pussy-whipped by the Sandman, I wouldn't stand for it!"

At that, Jak had to blink. But then he leant against the table, chuckling into his hand and shaking his head. But the laughter stuck in his throat when Daxter leant in close, playfully reaching around Jak's back to grab his shoulder and lightly rattle him.

There was a lazy sluggishness to Daxter's movements, remnants of the slight hangover that still held him back from the widest motions and loudness. And Jak wasn't used to getting touched like that, almost panicking when the fingers curled over his shoulder and he felt the weight of an arm against his back. But the room was light and it was Daxter, without a threat. The panic faltered before it could be kindled.

But there was another threat as he watched Daxter grinning and leaning in closer, slowly as if the air was clogging up. Transfixed. Knowing he had to push away, the body heat was already brushing against him and the scent of Daxter filled his nostrils. Some remains of the fur, and desert sand – but nothing like Haven. He always, somehow, kept a whiff of the happiness that had been Sandover.

Different from the night before, Jak had been moving closer then, in secret. Now he was the one approached but Daxter didn't know, didn't understand – he had to push away, but the motion would be stiff and tense, so much that Daxter would notice-

The sideway motion stopped, Dax' head tipping towards Jak as the blue eyes rolled upwards.

"I'd rather you were aaall mine. It'd keep both our asses outta all your favorite playgrounds, bud."

Jak couldn't reply, just hoping he was looking somewhat collected. He also hoped that that thing pulling at his mouth was a smile.

But then suddenly, Daxter's eyebrows twitched. He straightened up and withdrew his arm, looking suspiciously at Jak. The blond stared back, a panicked thought wondering how much about his feelings had been realized.

"Hey… where did you sleep last night?" Daxter demanded. "On that chair?"

It was a small relief, but one regardless. It did take a bit of restraint not to let out a deep breath, though.

Jak glanced aside, shrugging like it didn't matter to him. It sure seemed to matter to Daxter too, though. A fist clenched on the table.

"You even nodded off in the air train, man, you needed some good ol' decent sleep!"

The words slipped out of Jak's mouth before he had properly considered them.

"In your bed?" he said.

Oh shit.

Their gazes met, eyes widening slightly.

Daxter's mouth opened, but snapped shut. All air left him.

For a split second, they just looked at each other, uncertain. Both realizing that things had changed, but unwilling to admit, to accept.

A split second only, that was all Daxter could handle – thankfully, for both of them.

"Ah… I- mean, ah… dammit!"

Daxter fretted for a moment, then rubbed the back of his head violently. Unsure what to say, Jak opened his mouth. However, he was cut off before he could speak.

"Now look!" Daxter snapped, straightening up so quick there should have been a crack. His glare was quite violent. "It wasn't a problem before, right? If we both agree on that, it doesn't matter. _Right_?"

It's difficult to have an argument like that lose, when the person you're presenting it to couldn't have wished for anything better. This time, Jak knew that he was smiling.

"Right," he said.

Daxter sunk back against the sofa, loudly breathing out in relief.

"Damn, Jak, don't put me through crap like that."

There was no apology to that. None was needed.

Daxter grabbed his cup again, and nearly had it by his lips before he realized that it was almost empty. Corner of his lip rising slightly, Jak pushed the coffee pot within reach.

"So, the plan for today?" Daxter said as he refilled his cup. "Something like avoiding Torn until I feel good enough to go shooting sounds good to me."

"Torn should be back at Freedom HQ by now," Jak said.

He took the pot when Daxter handed it over, and poured the last contents into his own forgotten cup.

"Well that makes things a whole lot easier!" Daxter said, then turned his head towards the blond beside him, an eyebrow cocked. "For once. You know, I can't even remember the last time you gave me some good news."

Jak rolled his eyes, but it was in a completely different way from when he rolled his eyes at anyone else.

They could have continued in the same vein for a long, pleasant time. However, the moment was cut short when a door in the back opened and Tess stepped into the bar.

"Good morning, boys!" she chirped.

Daxter had instantly perked up at the mere sound of her footsteps. Jak looked away, clenching his hand under the table.

"Ah, Tessy sweetheart!" Daxter said, standing up and barely swaying. "Take a seat, I gotta talk about some business."

While the two of them settled on a barstool each, Jak sighed to himself and emptied the rest of his cup of coffee. He needed the caffeine badly right then. And it was an excuse not to join them for a little while longer. But once the cooling drink was all gone, he got up and relocated to the stool behind Daxter, watching without a word.

It was quite apparent from the beginning that Tess felt less than thrilled about realizing that Daxter wanted to return to the fighting. She didn't protest, but the glances she threw at Jak spoke enough. Silently begging for help.

It was different now, she felt it too. There wouldn't be a hero and his pet, but a hero and his friend.

Daxter would have needed to be blind not to notice it. However, he acted as if it was water on a duck's back – the only sign of annoyance his increased assurance that it would all be fine. He had not spent most of his life talking just to miss out on getting some serious skills in that art.

And the unspoken, underlying argument was always, in one way or another, "I'll be fine, Jak won't let anything bad happen anyway".

In the end, that was probably what made Tess agree, even if none of them would have admitted it.

"Oh alright then," she finally said, sliding off the chair. "I think I've got right the thing for you, whiskerpuss."

Then, blind to Jak even if she had spent half the discussion looking at him, she gently curled her hand around the back of Daxter's head, threading her pink-nailed fingers through his hair.

And placed a cherry-scented kiss on his forehead.

She started to walk towards the exit, smiling over her shoulder.

"I'll be in the shooting range, boys. Call me up when you're ready."

Daxter gazed after Tess' leaving form all the way until she disappeared through the door, shutting it behind her with a soft tingle of the bell.

Jak's fingers twitched.

After a moment Daxter woke up and turned his head, raising an eyebrow at Jak's vacant stare at him. There was something behind the blank expression, something he couldn't read. Something akin to anger. He frowned, suddenly uneasy.

"Jak?"

A blink, the expression softening immediately.

"Hm?"

"Something wrong, buddy?"

Before Jak could even begin to form a reply, Daxter reached his own conclusion. The frown dug deeper into his forehead as all the doubting he had faced last night and just now simply blew up and he near enough snarled.

"And don't give me any fussing, I don't _care_ how worried you are. I _ain't_ leaving you alone-"

Jak started on a calming "I know", but Daxter stumbled over the words.

"- not after all the shit he said-!"

He fell dead silent, biting his lip as the color drained from his face. Jak's mouth slammed shut.

A shuddering breath shook Daxter and he turned away, casting a worried glance around the rearranged bar as if paranoid that somebody was listening in. He heard the scuffle and steps, turning back even as he tried to curl up on his seat. Jak sat down beside him, silently placing a big hand on the thin shoulder. Caught.

Daxter gulped, but his mouth was suddenly dry. Staring at the counter he sought to avoid the gaze but could still sense it. Feeling much smaller again, like he was shrinking past the ottsel size he was still used to.

"Oh, you know..." he heard himself croak. "Muttering about all the things he'd do to you- enough to make Sig's skin crawl I tell you..."

He fell silent, lamely. Still feeling Jak's eyes on him, knowing the blond wasn't buying it – Jak knew there was more but he wouldn't open his mouth and ask.

Daxter fidgeted with his shirt, shaking his head. The hand on his shoulder felt so terribly heavy and he almost wanted to be small again, able to roll into a ball and look too pathetic to be silently interrogated.

He almost jumped out of his skin when Jak suddenly spoke.

"Erol gets into your head..."

Daxter looked up, but Jak was tiredly rubbing a hand over his eyes. The calloused thumb resting on a bony shoulder rubbed against the loose cloth, comforting. Daxter bit his lower lip, listening with a chill rolling through his gut. Jak spoke from experience.

The hand fell from the grim face and Jak met the nervous gaze.

"... and then you just can't get him out," he said.

Again Daxter gulped, with no greater luck this time either. He looked away, struggling with the taste of bile. And he was there once more, bathing in dread as the cyborg seemed to dig into his mind and drag out the last thing he wanted to hear. Words crushing him.

The hand on his shoulder dragged him back to reality with a light squeeze – still heavy, but now rather a stable point helping him remember where he was. The warm, familiar touch moved slightly, calming, reassuring. He shook his head to get a grip, staring at his own clenched hands on the counter.

He wanted Jak to know all of a sudden, so that he would understand just what it meant and stop arguing against having his friend still tagging along. Understand the guilt that had to be repaid.

"H-he said..."

The knuckles turned white and he crunched his eyes shut.

"... s-said that I let them have you in the first place."

His voice broke on the last words and he shuddered as the hand clenched over his shoulder again. Then there was another one on his other side and he was turned on his seat. Opened his eyes finally, scared of what he might see.

Jak watched him, leaning forwards on his own seat. He was frowning, but when he spoke the voice was soft.

"Dax, running away..."

He leant even closer, so much that a whiff of his warm breath touched Daxter's pale face. The redhead blinked, dumbfounded, hearing _Jak's_ voice clog up, seeing the hard gulp move the Adam's apple before the warrior spoke again.

"Running away was the best thing you ever did."

While hearing himself splutter something, Daxter could not really tell what. His arm crawled over the counter, seeking to steady him in case Jak's hands would not be enough.

As if.

The expression kept talking when the voice stopped, asking what else could you have done, what if you'd stayed and gotten killed – things that Daxter had tried to tell himself, but it had never helped before, not until he "heard" them from the only one who could forgive him. But Jak silently added things Daxter could not have told himself.

_"I couldn't have survived without that hope."_

"Ah. Well… if you p-put it… that way…"

Daxter weakly chuckled, scratching his cheek with one finger. Looked back at Jak's serious face, bit his lip.

The face was familiar and serious, but those eyes could stare him into the floor.

His chest felt like it was swelling.

Without thinking, Daxter slipped forwards, off the stool. The momentum continued and he rocked into Jak's chest, raising his arms around the strong neck. Ducking his head beside Jak's before he could start thinking about what the hell he was doing.

The ottsel was still so close, the small creature who knew that curling up on Jak's chest or in the crook of his neck, to be petted, was the best therapy there was for both of them. It should be okay, shouldn't it? It was just the two of them.

Like it always had been.

"I hope you're okay with being weird for a sec," Daxter muttered through his teeth.

He still could have sworn that Jak had tensed up, because he relaxed after a moment. A chill tore through Daxter's gut at that realization, but then the blond moved. With a solid thunk his boots hit the floor, forcing Daxter a small step back in alarm. But Jak's hands slid from the thin shoulders, one moving to the back of Daxter's neck. The other arm slipped down over the finer back, a slight pull bringing them back together. Reassuring.

"It's not weird," Jak murmured, shaking his head.

Chuckling, Daxter straightened up slightly and playfully dunked his temple against Jak's.

"Yeah, s'long as you promise me you'll kill anyone suddenly busting in," he said.

Standing like this, it became very apparent once again how the status of their height had shifted. Daxter chuckled at that too, but let it drop.

It took a couple of seconds to get used to the peculiar situation, but Jak didn't seem to mind. So, his partner didn't either.

After another second, Daxter started to recognize that he actually could detect the smell of Jak's hair again. It had been so close to his formerly oversensitive nose for years that he hadn't really noticed it for ages. Quite nice, he had to admit.

Even so… little things, and he hadn't been away from Jak for more than one night and a bit of morning. It could be days and even weeks now, and they'd never be as close as when he was fuzzy…

But he didn't say anything like that. Daxter pinched his eyes shut hard and leant his temple against Jak's head. Didn't want to think about how his world was changing in a bad way. There were so many good things in the transformation, and he didn't want to lose it. And he didn't speak up about it either.

That was just _too_ weird.

He didn't notice how Jak glanced at their reflection in the bar mirror. Hesitant, searching eyes studying them, wrapped in each other's arms.

* * *

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Keira.

I need Jak. But so does daddy, and Torn, and Ashelin, and… all of us.

But I think we all know that Jak doesn't need us.

Jak and I never really broke up, we just grew apart somehow. And yet it seemed like everyone knew the exact moment it was over. Tess told me I was just imagining things when I let that one slip. And yet, maybe it was she who made me think so in the first place, when she suddenly showed up and dragged me out to a café for a "girls' talk". It wasn't that random, but still I felt like she did it because she knew.

I don't know what Jak needs.

Jak never, ever says that he's tired or hungry. At least, I've never heard him say it, and I doubt anyone else has either. Daxter says those things, but all Jak ever does is look harrowed, and he never says a word about it. He can't admit weakness to us.

I wonder if he would have back in Sandover, if he could talk then. And I wonder if he's ever let any of those new friends of his know when he's thirsty and such. All those simple things that should be natural… but then, nothing is natural with Jak anymore.

Daddy says that he'll come back to us eventually, but even when Jak is here he still feels distant. I wanted to greet him when he returned from the wasteland the first time, when we met with the barrier between us, but I couldn't say a word. There was more than just a physical barrier. I… couldn't do a thing when they banished him. So when I saw him again, I was scared. I felt like I shouldn't talk to him, that I had no right.

And when Jak didn't say anything about accepting daddy's apology about Veger, when he said "I'll stop him myself", I was almost glad that I hadn't tried.

Jak really doesn't need us. And when he actually did, we proved him right because we couldn't help him. He has to make sure that he's alright on his own.

End Introspection.


	13. Midday

Chapter 12, The Day After – Midday

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Tess.

I gotta admit, he was cuter as a fluffball. There just aren't enough cuddly, fuzzy little things in this place, and my precious little Daxxie was perfect for a little petting now and then.

But, he's still cute. Just little boy-cute instead of cute-little-thing-cute. Though I guess he's not a boy, really. But who cares? 'Man' totally doesn't suit him! Pff.

I got kinda worried when I saw him at first. We had a special relationship, you know? I didn't want things to get complicated just because he was suddenly as tall as me. No worries there though, he acted just the same. Just not as much as a pet, and that's so sweet.

And he hasn't lost his real charm. That sweetie sure does know how to make a girl laugh. Gimme cute and funny any day of the week over handsome and boring.

If you want something super cute though, just look at how Jak is fussing around him like a mother hen! Aww!

End Introspection.

* * *

It started off as one of the better days in Haven. After a bit of more rest and some breakfast, Daxter declared that he was well enough to head to the shooting range.

Once there, Tess was already waiting and ready to demonstrate a pair of pretty small handguns – but her turning a cardboard metal head into confetti silenced any complaints. Small, but packing a punch. Tess proceeded to go over the technobabble which marked the beginnings of a true gun fetishist. Had she been more scientifically inclined, Vin would probably have come back from the grave – more than he already was – for her sake.

Regardless, she said a lot, but like most of Samos' lectures, it went in through one ear and out of the other without leaving a mark on the brain. But, since this speaker was a lot easier on the eyes than Samos ever had been, Daxter at least pretended to listen.

In a nutshell, the guns were too small to use a morph function, but powerful enough to get the job done. Not ideal for range attacks – Jak frowned at this, but Daxter didn't seem to mind – but would work very well in a cornered situation. Of course, if Tess had any say, that would by no means be necessary if Jak valued his arms.

And finally, when she felt done with the lecture, the blonde lady handed over the weapons to their new owner.

Even if Daxter spared the world anything like Jak's borderline manic smirk when he was given his first gun, the redhead still smiled wide and with great interest. That kind of "run for your lives, he's on the loose!" interest. It seemed that even holding a morph gun that used to be at least three times his size couldn't actually match with having an upgraded, semiautomatic peashooter of your own.

What followed was a rather trying minute for Jak, however, as Tess pushed a button to call forth a new cardboard enemy and stepped up behind Daxter to show him how to position his arms. Despite the grungy light in the sulfur scented room, the deepening red on Daxter's cheeks was painfully visible from Jak's vantage point there from the side.

Even when cut short, the moment stretched like gum – until Tess suddenly looked up and glanced at her watch.

In the next second, chirping something about needing to do some stuff and being really sorry about this – and throwing a cheerful glance as she passed him – Tess merrily sauntered out.

It left both of the men looking at the door and wondering what the heck had just happened.

"Err. Women?" Daxter finally flung out, absently putting one of the gun in its holster so that he could scratch his chin.

Jak shrugged, but smiled slightly as he stepped over and took the space Tess had left him. This time, Daxter didn't blush. But neither did he tense or had to struggle to keep his focus.

Practicing to aim and fire without being brought off balance by the recoil was only the main part of the practice (which, considering the caliber of the morph gun versus the ottsel's small body, seemed pretty silly in itself). A sizable chunk of time had to be used practicing reloading as quickly as possible. Daxter fumbled a lot at first, in what was probably a mix of sleeping in, memories of alcohol, and not being perfectly in sync with his now longer and bigger fingers. However, unlike the situation with assignments he had been given and not come up with himself, in this case Daxter displayed a surprising amount of patience.

They quit only when they got hungry, heading back to the Naughty Ottsel for lunch. After that, despite any and all personal wishes, they found a two-seater zoomer and took off towards the HQ. Just because they knew a certain dreadlocked someone would glare an annoyingly awful lot if they didn't.

It was an eerily silent flight, at least between the two of them. Daxter didn't say a word, not after they left the safe zone of the harbor and entered what had been a battle field of robots and humans just a few weeks ago. He just ducked down on the floor when Jak waved at him to get out of sight as well as the situation allowed.

Things were much safer now, when there was no flying fortress to rain metallic fighters onto the city anymore – but not all of them were gone, and Jak didn't feel like taking chances.

It was a trying flight, for several reasons. The silence didn't settle well with either of them, unnatural and uncomfortable when Daxter was right there. Jak kept on the lookout, more carefully than ever, forcing him into a balance of speed and attention that got on his nerves very quickly. Normally he would speed through, knowing that Daxter was ready to fire the morph gun at any approaching enemy. Even though he did keep the gun within reach, yellow shine painting the plastic lining of the vehicle, it would be difficult to drive and shoot. He didn't want Daxter moving into plain sight either. They needed to get to the HQ quickly, someplace where Erol couldn't spot them and take aim.

Few others may have realized it, but the two of them knew that Erol never really tried to kill Jak. Or rather, he never let his underlings really try to kill Jak. Guns never aimed for vital spots, close combat involved electrical shocks. The metal heads seemed a bit more difficult to control, but when you have spent one year fighting them while they _really_ want to kill you, you notice when grunts aren't actually going for your throat anymore. Even if they really, really want to.

To kill Jak was a luxury the master reserved for himself alone.

But now, Erol also knew what kind of wound would hurt the most.

Jak had no intention to let him have another chance at that.

The streets of what had once been the water slums were thankfully peaceful. Only chipped railings and burnt trees reminded the travelers, pedestrians and soldiers of the chaos that had ravaged even this part of town just a few weeks ago. However, here too things had calmed down since the fall of the war factory. Maybe if given a little more time, people would even start to dare hoping that the peace would last.

Both Jak and Daxter were quite relieved when finally able to hop out of the zoomer and step into the HQ. The redhead started babbling as soon as the elevator door closed behind them, glad to once again be able to move about without Jak being on high alert.

Jak listened with half an ear, concerned with his own thoughts. Getting Daxter into the HQ was a great relief in itself. The building was probably the safest place there could be in Haven, securely underground.

It was what came next that he didn't want to have to think about.

The elevator wooshed past the security floors and living quarters, finally reaching the bottom with a slow swing.

The destruction duo hadn't even stepped through the opening doors before Torn verbally hit them in the face with a usual, Torny greeting from the other side of the room.

"Are the sewers clean yet?"

Jak rolled his eyes and Daxter opened his mouth to fire off a retort, but everything halted at the call.

"Daxter! You're really back!"

Keira didn't dash across the room to take a closer look, like Tess had struggled through the padding of the store room in the Naughty Ottsel – because Keira wasn't Tess. But she did perk up and take a couple of steps closer.

Behind her, Samos leant to the side to see past his daughter's back – then straightened up again, pressing a hand to his little green face.

Even though he surely noticed the sage's annoyance (or, probably, because of it) Daxter's cheerfulness tripled. He flung up both hands in the victory sign, grin pretty much stretching from one ear to the other.

"Oh yeah, the lady killer is back in full business!"

Then his hands suddenly dropped to the height of his chest, palms rubbing against each other as the grin became demonic.

"Now where's that birdbrain?"

Very much despite their character, everyone caught themselves glancing at Onin. Her white eyes stared ahead calmly, hands resting in her lap and legs, as always, folded under her. And her bowl-hat appeared to be strangely monkawless.

"The _sewers_?" Torn snarled.

Jak walked further into the world of electric light and buzzing computers, shaking his head. Following close behind him, Daxter muttered about scaredy monkey-chickens that ran at the first second sight of danger.

Torn, unsurprisingly, was not pleased with this answer.

"Well, why didn't you clean out the sewers on the way here?" he roughly asked.

"Daxter's still getting used to being human again," Jak calmly said.

He didn't have to say more, the others in the room could make their own conclusions from that – though Jak suspected that they thought of words like "burden" rather than his "safe". He forced those thoughts back – they smelled of dark eco.

"I'll get it done as soon as we're done here," he added.

Torn looked like he was about to say something more, but Ashelin stepped up beside him and gave him a Look. Sighing, the commander of the Freedom League settled for pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew fully well that bossing Jak around wasn't quite as okay as it used to be, but old habits die hard. Especially in men like him. Especially when Jak didn't show any contempt towards those who had failed him.

"I understand you had to bring Daxter away from Spargus?" Ashelin said.

Knowing what was fast approaching, Jak tried to steel himself as he nodded.

"He would've had to fight in the arena if we didn't get out of there," he said. "I don't think he's ready for that."

"We'll have to find him a vacant room, then," Torn somewhat gruffly said. His hand absentmindedly twitched, as if it wanted to move towards a non-existent pile of papers to file a report.

"He can use ours," Jak said, maybe a little too quickly. "I have to go back to Spargus."

He tried very hard to keep a neutral look on his face when he said it, even when the words grew like cotton in his mouth. Even so, he had to say it.

For every word he was aware that Daxter had stopped talking and smiling.

Ashelin threw a quick glance between the two. If she understood, she didn't show it. There was nothing but a well practiced little smile on her lips as she calmly dropped her judgment.

"I see no problem with that."

In essence, it was just a waste of time to shower now, since he was going back towards the port through the sewers. But really, it could be days or weeks – he didn't really want to think about that possibility, though – before he came back to Haven again, and in Spargus everybody smelled. He could take a quick dip in the ocean in the evening as long as he didn't get wounded beyond white eco healing anywhere along the way – bathing in the salt water during the day was asking for trouble.

It was the most efficient to clean up the sewers on his way back.

But he sure wasn't missing a chance to take a proper shower, even if the sudden cleanliness wouldn't last long.

Even though it was a lot easier to breathe in the wasteland – despite the heat burning your lungs, every little gasp felt loads healthier than the mouthfuls of smog clogging your throat in Haven – there was a certain drawback to the cleaning conditions. Not the smell, after a while everyone got used to it, and there were more important matters to attend to… however, that lack of cleanliness, then coupled with the dirt and smoke and general unpleasantness of Haven, all came down to one thing.

Jak pretty much felt like he was a snake sloughing his skin as the water and soap peeled away rather than melted the layer of dirt covering him. It made him wonder, as he stepped out and reached out a dripping hand for a towel, how much extra weight he had lost from just cleaning himself.

He dried himself quickly, then pulled on the waiting clean change of clothes while his hair was still wet. Years ago, it had felt natural to spend all day in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks. But like so much else from long ago, that had long disappeared. Now, it only made him feel edgy as soon as the excuse of being in the shower or the rare bath was gone.

Still rubbing his hair with the towel, Jak opened the bathroom door and walked into the main room.

Despite everything he struggled to suppress, his lip stretched wide at the sight of Daxter on the bed. Rather, curled up on the foot of the bed.

Somebody was still an ottsel at heart.

He seemed to be dozing at first sight, but as soon as Jak made a sound Daxter sat up and beamed at the newly cleaned hero.

"I can't tell from here anymore, but I do think my nose is grateful for your actions," he cheerfully said and hopped off the bed.

Jak would have kept smiling, but something in the choice of words made him remember something he needed to say.

"Dax…"

Jak frowned slightly, causing his friend to instantly perk up to attention. The redhead recognized a sudden change of subject when he heard one, even if he didn't look too enthusiastic all of a sudden.

It hadn't worked to tell Daxter to "go back to the city" when both of them first met the wasteland, but maybe this would be acceptable. Jak knew he had to try. His actions wouldn't have an impact on Daxter's safety for a while.

"Dax, don't go outside alone or anything, okay?" Jak said.

The blue eyes beneath the red eyebrows studied him for a second, then they rolled upwards.

"Yeah, yeah, _mommy_," Daxter said with a loud, theatrical sigh. "I'll be a good boy- yeep!"

He ducked and bolted, pout dissolved in a shrieking laugh as he tried to avoid getting grabbed and have his hair mercilessly ruffled again. The escape was quickly ended, Jak locking Daxter's neck under his arm with friendly but firm ease. The towel fell to the floor.

It was nothing but an excuse to have him close, in the end. Gangly and warm, and still smelling the same as he had during the night and in the bar. Now, however, Daxter wasn't asleep or willing to be there – unknowing and at peace. He struggled, laughing, but still struggling – and at that unpleasant thought, Jak let him go.

Daxter staggered backwards, still cackling as he rubbed his neck.

"Sheez!" he gasped, then strung up a warning finger. "Don't get cocky though, buddy boy. I'll get you yet, one'a these days!"

Jak just smiled slightly, still uneasy. He quickly turned away to hide it, jabbing a finger at the bathroom.

"Shower's free, champ," he said.

"Whazzat?" Daxter demanded, swiftly sidestepping around to get face to face again. "Do I sense an itsy bit of doubt there? Trying to change the subject, are we?"

The tip of his pointing finger hovered an inch away from Jak's nose.

It lasted only for a moment before Jak bent forwards, eyes pinched shut and shoulders shaking as he chuckled into his hand.

Daxter crossed his arms and turned his nose towards the ceiling.

"Humph!" he loudly scoffed. But when he went on, the voice turned silky. "Well, since you're apologizing so profusely though, I guess I can forgive ya."

He seemed satisfied with that himself, as he started towards the bathroom.

"Hokay, shower time! Hello heaven!" he proclaimed.

Saying so, Daxter started pulling off his shirt. Jak looked away, quickly, even as he was straightening up. He still caught a slip of bare back between Daxter's pants' line and rising shirt.

Jak suppressed a wish to clear his throat.

"I gotta clear something up with Torn before I leave," he said instead. "I'll just-"

Daxter's voice cut him off, too sudden and sharp. The footsteps had stopped in an instant.

"You'll be back, right?"

Even if he knew he shouldn't, Jak had to turn and look at that. The anxious tone was far too strong not to.

Daxter watched him from the other side of the room, his hands frozen on the hem of his shirt – stilled halfway up his chest. No trace of the smile remained.

If he crossed over to Daxter now, Jak knew that something would happen.

He tilted his head a little, because if he hadn't done anything even so little he would have had to move. Not trying to smile, because Daxter wasn't, and they both knew that trying wasn't worth it in this situation. Neither wanted to smile to deny this unease.

"Yeah," Jak said. "Yeah, I'll be right back."

Half a second passed before Daxter let out another dramatic sigh, head dropping forwards. He straightened up just as quickly, well-trained grin safely in place.

"Right-o, then," he said. "If that's the case, you're free to go."

He winked, then started with the shirt again.

Jak walked out the door, quickly closing it and turning the key for Daxter's privacy.

The bland corridor outside was empty, so he allowed himself to lean against the wall and press a hand to his forehead for a moment.

Precursors, this was _not going well_.

As he started to walk, he dryly wondered just how odd his behavior must have seemed. Truth being, however, it wasn't just that he needed to spare himself being too close to his friend in such a situation. He did have a real reason to see Torn and the others without Daxter.

A few minutes later he entered the heart of the Freedom HQ for the second time that day. Nothing seemed to have changed at all, but then nothing ever seemed to here – and when something did seem different, it seldom meant anything good. No complaints there.

Before Jak had even taken two steps inside, Torn noticed him.

"Did you forget something, Jak?" the commander roughly asked, giving a routine glare over the top of a heap of reports.

Even if he did not reply at once, the hero had the full attention before he had even gotten to the central table computer thanks to that question.

"I need to tell you something before I go."

Jak only looked around briefly, then turned back to Torn and Ashelin. As he continued each face tightened – either grim or worried. He could feel it without even looking.

"When Erol showed up, he-" Jak's eyebrows crept lower. "- he targeted Daxter. That's how he fell down the chasm into the eco. And I think he- Erol figured out that Dax is important."

Jak was stepping on unknown territory right now, and the rest of them only made him more aware of it. They remained silent, normal squabbling and interjections cut short in the face of him so wordy. Perhaps some thought that it was just because it was the first time they saw him without Daxter – without somebody who would speak for him. So they let him speak, watching him silently, and a little surprised.

He expressed himself carefully, but it was quite enough. Jak could see from the (of varying success) suppressed flinches that each and every one in his audience could guess how apparent it had been.

Giving them the eased up story about what had happened wasn't the hardest part. Jak clenched his teeth.

"Erol knows that Dax is here, for sure. And I have to go back to Spargus." His hands curled at his sides. "I'm counting on you to make sure he stays safe."

The silence fell crisply upon the room, for a moment leaving nothing but the constant hum of the computers. But it only lasted for as long as it took Ashelin to breathe in to speak.

"We'll take care of him, Jak. I promise."

They exchanged glances, a slight twitch of Jak's lips acknowledging the echo of her two final words. She had been right the last time she said it, when somebody did find him in the middle of miles of nothing but sand and rocks.

"Oh Ashelin, you don't know what you're us getting into," Samos dryly said from his corner of the room. "Keeping Daxter out of trouble is more work than it's worth." He looked up at Jak, expression softening somewhat. "But, since you're asking, my boy, we'll give it a shot."

Jak smirked slightly, and just for a little while the unease melted away.

However, it returned as he walked back through the corridors, on his way to tell Daxter goodbye. Even if everyone knew it was nothing but a temporary separation, it left a sour taste in his mouth.

A year ago, he wouldn't have been able to close his eyes in sleep if Daxter wasn't there, because the cold of the prison still filled his bones. Even if it seemed an unhealthy addiction, Jak's everyday life demanded absolute vigilance of him. And that demanded proper sleep. It demanded a way to unwind – and he had always gotten that from the cheerful chatter.

Even so, he would just have to deal with being alone for a while. Really, it shouldn't be that difficult – he felt worlds better after coming to Spargus. Not so far down mentally that he'd start imagining voices again. He could get by, and so could Daxter, despite that anxious tone and worried look.

Neither of them were children.

Still working on this mental health practice, Jak pushed the door to their room open. As he did so the thought struck him, with a fair bit of alarm, that Daxter may still be in the shower. He had to wonder how difficult that would be.

It shouldn't be, shouldn't, shouldn't.

Jak bit the inside of his cheek hard, forcing himself to snap out of it.

There was nobody in the main room, but a red spot to the side caught his eye instantly. Daxter was poking his head out from the bathroom, an annoyed look on his face. Jak raised an eyebrow at him.

"It's beyond the scope of belief and still spinning!" Daxter shouted, throwing up his arms and retreating.

Both eyebrows at their highest possible position, Jak crossed the room and entered the smaller one. It took him a moment to take in the scene.

The door to the shower was carelessly left half open, the small, pale towel on the floor a tangled mess by now. Another towel had dropped from Daxter's grip by the look of it, lying in a heavy heap by his feet.

Daxter was standing by the sink in his boxers only, his hair a messy bush after the quick drying he had been working on giving it. One hand pressed against his chin and cheek. The mirror was getting a mixed glare of half exasperation, half disbelief.

After a second he finally turned to Jak, still holding his hand in position.

"I gotta _shave_?" he complained.

Apparently, the pride of the fur shuddered at the thought.

For a moment, Jak just stared at him, then broke out in a voiceless laughter.

"Hey!" Daxter half howled, ramming both fists into his own hips and staring accusingly at his friend – and only one step away from laughing, himself.

Daxter's pout only melted a little when Jak stepped closer. A moment later it turned into a smirk when a big hand reached out and a thumb brushed against the rough little specks of red hair on the bony chin. Daxter wasn't really annoyed at all, he simply _had_ to make a scene about it – anxious to have it noticed, even in his delight at this new bit of change. Jak saw right through it, but just as with all of Daxter's tall stories he did nothing to puncture that balloon. Especially not now.

There was nothing special about the place they were in, no safe familiarity or beautiful surroundings. If anything it was cramped and clinical, made only less so by the carelessly discarded towel and the wet floor. There was no emotion in the stark white bathroom. But maybe that helped, in a way. If "helped" was the right word.

One had to consider the restraint Jak had managed so far, nothing short of almost tying himself into a knot. And at this faked incredulous look, the pout and the whine, he could simply take no more.

His brain was screaming _no no nonono DON'T_.

He didn't listen.

Their foreheads lightly touched in a playful dunk, Daxter's grin widening as Jak silently chuckled at him. Still just best friends since forever, at ease with being close and touching each other. Daxter had never shied away or suspected foul play, he who had slept in the crook of Jak's neck, lived on his shoulder, hidden inside his shirt and taken showers with him, soaked little fuzz ball draped across a scarred arm perfectly at ease. They could have gone on like that even now, with the same brotherly ease that had grown from their childhood.

But that all shattered when Jak tilted his head and touched his lips to Daxter's.

Both smiles went blank, Daxter's eyes shooting wide open in shock.

It lasted only for a second, before Jak pulled back as if he had been stung – while the redhead before him stood frozen, fingers hawked at his sides as if he had been about to push away but hadn't been able to get further.

They stared at each other for a painful moment, until Jak's gaze fell to the side.

"Sorry."

He turned around and left without looking back.

Like the boy who turned away and looked at the reefs, unable to look at his furious, newly fuzzy best friend. Unable to look at what he had caused. He heard a thump as Daxter's hand heavily landed on the side of the sink for support, but by then Jak was already by the door and leaving. Some numb memory made him remember to pick up his backpack and morph gun as he passed them, but then he was gone.

Whatever was in the sewers – robots or metal heads alike – would soon be wishing they were never born.

* * *

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Jak.

I guess I can't control myself. And I guess that's because for so long, I had to contend with the scraps of life Praxis felt like throwing at me – a flash of sunlight, a day at peace, anything that had been natural for as long as I could recall, but no longer belonged to me.

Nothing was mine anymore, not even me.

So I… grasp for things, desperately.

I didn't want Daxter to have to suffer for that too.

But I couldn't even keep that resolve.

I'm an idiot.

End Introspection.


	14. Dusk

Chapter 13, The Day After – Dusk

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Daxter.

… bwuhthe_hell_?

End Introspection.

* * *

Jak left the HQ in a sort of daze, hardly even noticing where his feet were taking him.

Before he knew it he was moving through the sewers and splashing through the dirty, stinking waters, largely illuminated only by the flashes of light when he fired his gun. At least, the adrenaline served to wake him up. There wasn't just that, though.

Feeling, each moment, like Erol was watching and smiling from somewhere behind him. Knowing that he was alone, and curious as to why.

Nothing happened, but Jak couldn't let it go. Didn't want to.

A mad thought stuck in his brain while he slouched through the dark, slimy corridors, stupid and unshakeable. If he had to go through that feeling of being watched for too long, he'd probably find himself standing on a rooftop shouting at Erol to come out and face him.

It was too familiar, maybe just his paranoia; old fears from the prison of never being out of sight, always guarded – but he wouldn't wager it. When it came down to it… right then, Erol was nothing but a diversion, something just bad enough to take his mind of things.

Because that thump of Daxter's hand on the sink rolled in his ears, and those wide open, shocked eyes was all Jak saw as soon as he stopped to catch his breath.

In compare to that, Jak would have even preferred to hear that hollow, metallic voice calling his name. He could have hated Erol more than he hated himself right then.

To scare Daxter was the one thing he never should have been able to do. What he did in their room hadn't been a newly born crazy alter ego he couldn't control. It had been him.

And Daxter had never been so scared of Dark Jak that he fell mute.

Jak hardly even noticed the sunlight when he climbed out of the sewers and made his way towards the pier, towards his ride far, far away.

It all came down to that Jak already was in a bad mood when he began his journey back to Spargus. It didn't get any better, either.

The long trip in the air train stretched out for eternity behind him as he stepped out into the desert – hours of nothing but his own thoughts. No stream of words washing over him and keeping him from thinking.

He really needed to fight something big.

In the face of that knowledge, it was almost a relief to hear a familiar voice shout at him the moment the city gates opened before him.

"Oi, poppy!"

Only almost a relief, however, because even if Kleiver was good at finding harsh work, it could never, ever be a completely good thing to be noticed by that man.

"Perfect timin'," the huge man rumbled as he stalked across the open area between cars.

Jak took a few steps closer to meet him, but did not reply. For a moment the gaze from the mean little pig eyes went up and down the blond youth, and it seemed like a real danger that there would be questions about the lack of "rat". In the end though, Kleiver seemed to decide that he didn't really care whether or not Jak had finally made lunch out of his pet.

"We've got a coupl'a boys stranded out there with a broken Shark," Kleiver said, jabbing a thumb at the wall which kept the desert out. "'Less you're so mellowed from your weekend in the big smoke that ye can't handle any real action, I want you to take a mechanic out there to get them and the car back."

It sounded disappointing to Jak's ears, at first. In his current state of mind he would have much preferred a hunting trip. Then again, things never went as easy as Kleiver liked to make them sound – just to give poor little newbies healthy doses of shock.

"I'll go," Jak said.

"Good widdle poppy," Kleiver said with a smirk.

While Jak rolled his eyes, the huge man turned around.

"Hey, Zem! Git yer useless ass out here, I found you a ride!" he bellowed.

"Yeah, yeah…"

A tall shadow stepped out from behind a ragged Desert Screamer, shielding his eyes from the sun with a huge hand. The other hand held on to a dully gray tool box.

The man took a couple of steps closer until both he and Jak managed to get a proper look at each other in the glaring sunlight. A foot froze in mid step, lips parting in a sound that never made it.

Jak's eyebrows sunk.

The mechanic was tall, probably almost at Sig's height. And like Sig, his skin was dark – but a deeper, colder hue. A thin, black braid hung down over his shoulder, hair falling out of it and clinging to the sweaty neck.

But the most prominent thing of all were the grey tattoos embedded in his skin. The depth of his color made them harder to spot, but they were definitely there.

Ex-KG, and one not exactly delighted to see who his driver was from the look of things.

Jak threw a glare at Kleiver – and as he did, he didn't notice that the mechanic's frozen expression cracked in a similar scowl at the same person. Both of them silently questioning the fat walrus if there was no other mechanic he could spare.

Kleiver's wicked grin replied that sure, he could. He just didn't feel like it.

It wasn't worth an argument – even in his aggravated state Jak recognized that. Kleiver would be the only one getting anything out of it, and he wouldn't change his mind. He would, however, be delighted to make comments about whiners.

Letting out a deep breath, Jak walked over to his own Sand Shark and climbed in, waving at the mechanic – Zem, was it? – to climb in. The Gila Stomper may have been a better choice in case they would have to pull the broken vehicle back to Spargus, but the Shark was quick and could get the job done.

Besides, it was much closer by and Jak wasn't in a patient mood to start with. Everything so far was bad enough, having to spend time with an ex seemed to be the world's way of icing the crap cake.

Once he sat in the driver's seat, however, Jak tried to get a grip of himself.

He could deal with this. It wasn't like every ex in Spargus was a scumbag, even if most of them kept a careful/distrustful distance. He never had a problem with Torn being an ex-KG back in the day before they knew each other that well.

Then again, in that time, Jak hadn't yet understood what the tattoos meant. For all he had known then, it was something every other person got themselves in that strange, cruel world he had been dumped in.

Torn and Ashelin were alright. More than half the Freedom League soldiers were ex-KGs, many wary of him but not all of them aversive of throwing a grateful shout after him when he dashed in to save their sorry hides once a week.

Jak looked up and quirked an eyebrow as the mechanic clumsily climbed into the passenger seat of the Shark. He moved stiffly, avoiding to look at the blond driver. When he finally sat down his toolbox heavily landed in his lap, huge dark hands curling around the handle.

Without a word, Jak turned his head to the side to look a full question at the other man. Zem immediately leaned even harder against the car's frame, looking very much like he would gladly leap out of the vehicle right there and then.

It would have been so much better if Daxter had been there. He would have asked this bleedin' weirdo just how bad he had gotten beaten up by Haven's blond wonder before getting tossed into the giant sandlot.

But without Daxter there to smoothen it out, all there was in the car was a tattooed giant of a man just waiting to be attacked by a crazy demon.

Jak grit his teeth and looked ahead, turning the engine key with whitening fingers.

He did not need this kind of bullshit right now.

The Shark's engine came alive with a loud humming, and the vehicle rolled forwards. Jak focused on steering through the parking lot, not acknowledging anything else until the gate slid close behind them.

"Where to?" he growled without looking around.

From the corner of his eyes he still noticed Zem twitching at the sound. That did it. This time, the mechanic got a glare.

It almost flattened him against the car's side.

"I'm not going to tear your throat out!" Jak snarled.

Despite what he said, he found himself baring his teeth and quickly withdrew, inwardly cursing and trying to sear the desert ahead of them with his scowl.

"Okay, okay, okay… I got you."

The voice was deep and hoarse, but Zem didn't clear his throat in an attempt to speak clearer. He plucked his communicator from his belt and unfolded it, speaking quickly while it hummed to life.

"They're on the other side of the ruins and then a bit west," he said. "I'll get the coordinates in a sec…"

Jak just grunted in reply.

This trip made the lonesome hours in the air train seem pleasant in compare. Zem couldn't have been more aggravating if he had been constantly talking or even throwing insults. That would be a frustration Jak at least felt familiar with. The mute fear seeping from the huge man was something else, something of the nameless masses that had condemned their once "hero" to a death in the wasteland without even having seen him in person.

They did not exchange another word apart from brief directions from Zem, his gaze glued to the communicator as he spoke. When they finally – after what certainly felt like weeks to both of them – rolled over the top of a dune and spotted a dark smear looking like a car in the waves of heat ahead, the mechanic folded up the communicator and tried to straighten up.

"There," he muttered.

Jak didn't even bother to reply to that. For a couple of seconds it seemed like that would be it, but Zem suddenly reached up to scratch his cheek, hard.

"I- I, uh…"

He pinched his eyes shut.

"I've got a… history," he said, hoarser than ever. "But I ain't… angry at you, I just…"

The hand fell from his face and he turned away slightly.

"Sorry."

It was spoken low to start with, almost made impossible to hear over the engine. Jak still caught it, raising his eyebrows. There had been a lot of apologies flung his way lately, after Torn and Ashelin's official ones many others had followed. Very few of them had, however, sounded believable to him.

There wasn't a question about whether or not this one was honest or not. There was something else, something hoarse and trembling in the voice, in the way Zem's lips were pressed shut now.

Something was off, and Jak didn't like it. He still felt prompted to speak, however.

"I'm not going to kill you," he said, rehashing with some improvement what he had said earlier. It worked as an acknowledgement, but not a pardon. He didn't know what Zem meant, and he didn't want to know, that was all.

Zem flinched, but did not say anything more.

As they came closer, a man stood up in the shadow of the unmoving car and waved. A moment later the rescuers were close enough to see that there was a second wastelander waiting. This one, however, remained sitting – leaning heavily against one of the wheels, his head hanging low and his right arm in a dirty sling. He looked up and squinted when Jak rolled in beside the Shark and turned off the engine.

Sweat glistened on gray tattoos as the wounded man moved.

Another one.

"I was getting worried," the standing wastelander said – his face, at least, free of gray patches. His lips twitched when he spotted the mechanic. "Don't be too harsh on me, now, I didn't ram him on purpose."

He pointed down the hill, and moving to look around the wrecked Shark the newcomers spotted the dark shape of a typical wasteland metal head – a giant lizard armed to its teeth. The tracks in the sand showed that it had been charging, the flung to the side and tumbled down the dune.

That would explain the big dent on the front of the Shark. Zem was already eying it, annoyance seeping from his very being.

On his side, Jak had spent the same time looking at the metal head, fingers absently twitching just at the thought of fighting more of them. It was a blunt thrill Haven never could offer – not beyond that one metalpede, and that had not been a situation that allowed for a fair fight.

He turned around only to come face to face with a not at all unfriendly grin.

"Kleiver oughta think we're in real trouble if he's sending someone like you," the wastelander said.

In his state of mind Jak didn't feel much at all for the half-veiled respect, but he managed to stretch his lips a tiny bit.

Daxter would have loved it – though he would have showed it by demanding more of the same, and aimed his way. But Daxter wasn't there.

It was the one thing Jak could not forget for a moment.

"Yer an asskisser, Nidle," came a gruff snarl from the ground a few feet away.

The fourth wastelander seemed to have woken up, narrowing his eyes at all of them. At this distance it became apparent that he seemed to have some trouble focusing his eyes – which also underlined the fact that there had been a bit of a slur when he spoke.

"Arch there isn't feeling so good," Nidle said, rolling his eyes and jabbing a thumb at the ex-KG slouching against the Shark.

All three of them got an unfocused glare in return for that comment, but the wounded man didn't say anything. Nidle gave him a warning glance just to be sure, then continued in a lower voice.

"Just ignore him, his mind's with the birdies right now. I messed up a little when I gave him painkillers for his arm."

Zem made an annoyed sound, but turned and walked over to open the car's hood instead of commenting. As he bent over the engine, another, and much more acidic, annoyed sound was heard.

Nidle gave him an odd look, as if he had been expecting something more from the mechanic. Yet Zem didn't even look up, not even when he was called.

"Hey, can you fix it?" Nidle asked.

"I'll give it a shot, but you may as well prepare to get dragged back home," Zem replied, digging in his tool box.

Letting out a loud sigh, Nidle let his head drop to the side. A moment passed, and then he caught Jak's eye.

"I'll get the rope if you'd move up in front of us."

He turned and walked over to the broken Shark without waiting for more than a nod. A clanking and rustle rose up seconds later, as a big hand started rummaging around in the back of the car.

Jak started back towards his own car, when a slurring voice stopped him.

"Figures Kleiver would send the cavalierly to get us killed."

Unsteadily, Arch worked his way to his feet and leant against the car. Jak tried to make himself not look around, but he could see the motion in the corner of his eye – and a thought flashed briefly, an instinctual wonder at why Daxter didn't retort.

Then he clenched his teeth and began walking again. Not worth it, just ignore it, a drunk… high moron and nothing else. The sound of Nidle searching for the rope had stopped.

"What's the matter, freak?" Arch snarled. "Not up for tearing limbs off'a cripples today?"

"Arch!" Nidle snapped, but the damage was done.

Jak turned around, hands curling into fists. Yet he remained still and only glared back, even as Arch took a couple of not too steady steps forwards. Too close, too close, but he wouldn't retreat for an idiot of an intoxicated ex.

"Cool it, man," Zem hissed, poking up from the engine to wave a hand at Arch.

The other ex turned his head, bleary eyes narrowed at the attempt at a calming motion. A snort, and then a drawling growl.

"Shut up. Fucking coaltop…"

Jak had once, and only once – because according to Jinx, it only happened about once every third year – borne witness to a very, very drunk man throwing a racial slur at Sig.

It had been a late night at the Hip Hog, at that time, and Sig had been assigned the job as a temporary bouncer. People tended to look at the time with just a glare and jab of a huge thumb, but some morons were too intoxicated to think that far. Most often though, it ended with a verbal hint.

Not that time.

As soon as the two words "mud flaps" had entered the air, everything seemed to stop. The silent "uh-oh" was deafening, but the drunkard didn't even seem to notice it.

There had been barely contained distaste on Sig's face when the argument first started. That changed in a second.

Three booths away, Daxter ducked down Jak's shirt.

The idea had from the start been that the drunkard was to be thrown out.

And he was. He just had to come back for a few teeth later. And be dragged out of the harbor water, before that.

Violence might not kill racism, but it sure gives a bit of momentary satisfaction.

Zem did not have the power to change the atmosphere like Sig could, but he himself changed. Dark lips drawing back from his in compare eerily bright teeth and eyes narrowing, all that pathetic meekness was gone in a flash.

Apparently though, it was not noticed by the one it was aimed at.

"Get back t' work, I ain't talking to you," Arch snarled, sweeping his arm out at Jak. "'m talking to this fuckin' eco freak-"

The backhand flared against the bright sky and blazing sand, and deep down, Jak knew that by that distance it would safely pass several inches away from his face. That knowledge stood no chance against the far stronger instinct, the one that only knew of tattooed faces and static laughter and hard gloves.

Before he even had finished a single thought his arm flew up to block, and Arch's wrist collided with it.

It only earned him the swaying ex's full attention. The bleary eyes turned to Jak again, thinning with fury.

"You pickin' a fight?"

"That's enough, Arch!" Nidle shouted. But nobody listened to him.

Jak met the not too focused glare without a word, drawing back his hand to his side. It wasn't worth it, it wasn't worth it-

"Thinkin' yer so great 'cause you're a good driver, eh?" Arch sneered. He jabbed a finger at Jak's chest. "Even Damas wants ya dead."

Jak caught the man's wrist in an iron grip before the unsteady finger managed to actually touch what it was jabbing at. Not even this and the sliver of teeth showing stopped Arch.

"Whaddaya think he sent Sig at ya in the arena for?" The smirk grew wider, catching on to the tiniest hint of a flinch. "He sure don't want _him_ dead."

Jak opened his mouth, but no reply formed within his mind.

He had avoided thinking about that. Of all things, he had made himself absolutely, under no circumstance, even consider that one thing. Because he had known that he had no explanation, no sensible reason.

Nails digging into palm and a dangerous whisper in his ears liar liar liar _liar_ _shut up-_

A shadow fell over the two of them, a huge palm slamming into Arch's chest and sending him stumbling backwards, the surprise loosening the grip holding him. At the same time, the intruder's other hand crunched down over Jak's shoulder and shoved him further away.

"I oughta-!"

Zem's growl was cut short as a smaller hand closed around his wrist and ripped his hand away. He turned, anger draining into a look of pure horror the moment he met Jak's eyes. The smaller hand more threw aside the wrist than let go, and Zem recoiled as if bitten.

For the first time since he had left his own car, Jak spoke.

"Don't touch me. Ever."

"Ah- I- r-right…" The rage that had changed Zem for the briefest moment deflated, and he stepped several more steps backwards.

In the background Arch started to say something again, when there was a sudden _thunk_ and the paler ex fell with glazed eyes. Rolling his eyes, Nidle stepped back and massaged the edge of his hand.

"Sorry about that," he said, then bent down to grab Arch's limp form and drag it back into the shadow.

Jak hardly heard him, stalking back to his car and climbing in to drive it up in front of the Shark. Once he held on to the wheel he could hardly remember how to let go, clenching his fingers around the hot leather until his entire arms shook.

Nobody said a word to explain what Arch had said about Damas. Daxter wasn't there to make it better.

Daxter just wasn't there.

* * *

While Jak was still heading through the sewers, amusing himself with the age old art of mentally kicking himself senseless, Daxter finally made his way out of his living quarters.

He could not have recalled the last hour if he tried. It may have involved a lot of sitting on the bathroom floor, but it was a guess as good as any.

His chin was still as unshaven as he had found it after the shower.

Blank eyes scanning the walls and floor before him, idle and uninterested even as he moved. There really was no plan, and he only vaguely registered the route when he realized where he was heading.

Just because there was no place else.

He went to the heart of the HQ, to the land of computers and frowns, where Ashelin reigned supreme and everyone spent all day reading reports and listening for calls for help coming in from the soldiers in the city. Mostly calls for Torn to come and save them.

Daxter went there knowing that he wasn't wanted. Went there despite the fact that being a pain in the ass currently lacked its usual charm. Still, even their annoyance that didn't mean anything right then was better than the uninterrupted chug of his own thoughts.

He had wanted to go outside – not too far, of course, in case there would be any nasty surprise attacks – and just get a proper feel of his recovered body. Just move about, run a little, maybe scale a tree (all in spite of what he had promised Jak, of course). Pretend that he was still in Sandover, maybe. But ever since Jak left, Daxter hadn't felt like it anymore.

The door to the computer hall opened, and the redhead found himself mostly ignored. Except for by one.

"Aark! The rat problem is getting bigger!"

Pecker shot up from his resting place on Onin's basket hat, flapping out of reach as quickly as he could.

"Can it, bird brain!" Daxter grumbled back.

He had wanted to chase Pecker down too, yet even that didn't seem interesting anymore. Only sparing the bird one acidic glare, Daxter flung himself into a chair – a little harder than he should have, as the creaking startled him a little. Luckily enough, the piece of furniture held up.

He still had to get used to actually weighing something.

Grumbling to himself, he crashed an elbow on the chair's armrest and leant his face against a fist, crushing his lips against the hard ridge of knuckles. After a moment, he fell silent and closed his eyes.

What… the… hell?

Something had happened that _could_ not have happened. What had he been drinking yesterday? What had _Jak_ been drinking?

Daxter ground his lips against his teeth with the fist until it hurt, trying to get rid of the memory of Jak's… what Jak had done.

He couldn't freaking deal with this. What… the… _hell_? Jak was his best friend. A guy! Best guy friend! The guy Daxter knew since forever and inside out! There was _no way_ he'd want to k… do something like that, not to a guy. Not to his partner in crime. For starters, Daxter would have known about it.

He would have.

As close friends as they were, as close as they had lived for years-

Daxter bit his knuckles as a choking heat flared up across his face.

Curling up on Jak's chest and creeping into his shirt for protection and Jak holding him close and Jak had seen him naked yesterday and _what had Jak been thinking about_?

The fist muffled a strangled sound escaping Daxter's chest.

He felt like he would throw up.

His stomach rolled for a moment, but then it froze as frigid guilt poured through his being.

"_I'm not going to move."_

How could he, dared he think about Jak like that? Jak, whom he just up and left to two years of hell, but who forgave him and still kept him safe no matter what? Jak, who would throw away his gun and raise his arms in defeat for the off chance that it may save his best friend?

And just two days later, was that best friend no better than those who yelled "eco freak"?

He might still throw up.

But _why had Jak kissed him_?

Daxter pulled a face behind his fist as the k-word finally made it through his mental filter. Damn. Damn, damn, damn! _What_… the… hell?

How had Jak _expected_ him to react to that?

More importantly… what did Jak want from him now? Daxter suppressed a shudder, then hated himself for it. He just didn't want to think about that. Didn't want to think about that maybe he didn't have a best friend anymore, not if that best friend asked things of him that he couldn't give.

But Jak wouldn't… leave him behind. Not any worse than he was doing now, this was necessity. He'd come back.

The prospect of seeing Jak again made Daxter crunch his eyes shut even tighter. He couldn't deal right now, just couldn't. How could he ever?

Maybe, maybe this separation now was a good thing, right now. But then, would Jak have kissed him if they wouldn't spend time apart?

No… no, Jak didn't run away from things unless it was really, really, _really_ bad.

… this was worse. And he should have known that. He shouldn't have kissed his best friend in the first place.

He shouldn't have done that.

"Well, somebody's looking under the feather."

Daxter nearly jumped out of his skin as Pecker plopped down on the chair's other armrest.

"Get lost before I pluck all of _your_ feathers, birdie," the redhead muttered, turning further away.

"Aiaiai," Pecker said, sweeping a bright blue wing at Daxter's cheek and then quickly flying away from the half-hearted smack coming his way. "If you're not going to put your soul in it, there's no sport in indulging you."

"Get cooked!"

Despite the angry shout however, Daxter did not even make a motion to stand up.

He didn't see Keira watching him with a raised eyebrow. Even Samos gave him a glance that lacked the usual acid. Torn and Ashelin, meanwhile, did not even look up – writing off the shout as nothing worse or less than any other of Daxter's outbursts.

They had not known him for most of their lives.

Pecker flapped back to the unmoving Onin – perhaps she was sleeping, Daxter dully thought – and did not attempt to bother the gloomy redhead anymore. An uncanny silence followed, as Daxter sunk back into his brooding, tapping his finger against the armrest at a constantly changing, annoyed pace.

A sixth sense made him glance up when from the corner of his eye he noticed Samos wobbling over to one of the smaller computers. The sage pushed a button, stopping a blinking green light. A voice buzzed, but it was too far away for Daxter to hear. After a couple of seconds Samos answered something and hit button again. He turned around, meeting Daxter's eye for a brief moment.

"Jak made it through the sewers," Samos announced. "He's leaving the city now."

Daxter flinched and stared at the floor. A sound of acknowledgement was heard from Ashelin, but Torn and Pecker probably just nodded. Daxter wouldn't know, fully occupied with trying to figure out what the hell he thought about Jak heading off and away.

He did not pick up on the quick, light steps until a small, strong hand closed around his wrist and he was hauled to his feet, blinking in surprise at Keira. She most decisively nodded towards the door and proceeded to drag him along towards it, and out into the corridor. Well outside, she continued down the hallway at a quick pace. It took Daxter a moment to adjust to her speed, his own legs a bit stiff and unused to almost having to jog. This did of course not stop him to repeatedly ask her what the deal was.

"You look like you need a talk," she finally said over her shoulder.

"Ah dammit," Daxter said, trying to sound perfectly jolly though his stomach tried to turn into a knot. "I hate it when you ladies say stuff like that…"

It did not take too many turns before he knew where they were going.

In these full-blown-war days, Keira did not work on fixing and building racing zoomers or creating rift riders. She lived closer to the surface than most of the rest of the team, making herself useful by repairing damaged military vehicles. To make things easier for her, she had been assigned a room at the same level as the garage.

Right then, that didn't matter much beyond the point that she did not drag Daxter along to her room, but to the garage. A big double door finally opened for the two of them, washing out a wave of chilly air smelling of metal.

The garage was large, but not huge – one of many such places, though this was the central one, as part of the vastly equipped underground HQ. Haven could not afford the risk of keeping all their weapons and vehicles in one single place, had not done so since the beginning. So they had various places to store everything important, ready to be called upon if need be. Daxter thought he recalled something about this particular garage being a leftover from before Praxis' time – he had used it of course, but like so much else he had not built it. Mar probably had, like everything else – that or Jak's dad or granddad maybe, Daxter had always lazily figured about these kind of things.

Right now, there wasn't much action going on down there, from the looks of it. A couple of mechanics could be seen further down the underground parking lot, waving at Keira in the dusty glare of the lamps lining the dent between ceiling and walls. Or rather what remained of the walls, since everything was set up like a stable for military cruisers.

A few blue vehicles were left in their little homes on either side of the garage, the paint flaking and leaving the red beneath painfully visible.

There was probably a big door somewhere that opened to let all of the big bad fighters out, but Daxter had no interest nor time to reflect on it. Keira turned just after the door and dragged him off towards a corner, where a grayish door awaited.

Behind that was, as it turned out, what looked like a coffee room. A very simple kitchen – sink and coffee pot – and a table, both wearing dark, circular stains of many, many cups. A few chairs seemed to have been randomly placed all over the room, and in the far back there was a small, worn sofa. It was to that which Keira headed, then pushed Daxter down to sit on it. He looked up, quirking a nervous eyebrow.

"I've known you forever, Daxter. What's wrong?" Keira asked, punctuating her question by waving her finger about two inches from his nose.

She left it mercifully unsaid that anyone could see that something was wrong.

"Oh it's just… well, ya know, not-"

Daxter cleared his throat, setting his mind as straight as he could.

"It just kinda sucks finally being back to normal when Haven is practically falling apart again, ya know?" he said, stretching his lips so far it hurt. "I can't really enjoy it like it oughta be."

She wasn't buying it, and her folded arms said so before she actually spoke. Though she did give him a second to breathe, before she verbally punched him in the gut.

"It's Jak."

But then, he had braced himself for the hit, so it didn't hurt so much. He got back on track almost immediately. Almost too quickly, actually.

"Aw sheez!" he said, slapping the air. "Who needs him? It's always Jak, Jak, Jak 'round this joint. We can all have a good time even without the blond wonder, can't we?"

Keira smiled a little.

"I miss him too, Daxter."

All air left the redhead. His shoulders fell.

"It oughta be tough for you," Keira said, sitting down beside him.

Once, he would have given his left arm – maybe – to have her move in so close to him on her own. But right now, Jak – the bastard – had made him too numb and confused to even appreciate Keira getting close and friendly.

"You haven't been apart since- for forever, right?" she said.

Daxter bit his lip, looking the other way.

"It's not… it's not just that…" he muttered.

She remained mercifully silent, just waiting. And waiting. And waiting some more, while he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. Still, she kept waiting until he was ready.

Daxter gulped hard.

"Keira, don't hit me with the wrench, sugar-hun, just…" he forced himself to look at her for a moment. "Just why did'ya and Jak… y'know, break up?"

He didn't look, but he could guess that she bit her lip. Seemingly without thinking, she plucked a small wrench from some pocket and started turning it between her hands. Probably feeling better with something to keep her hands occupied, but it did not seem to work. The silence stretched until Daxter thought that he would explode, so much that when she breathed in to speak he cut her off.

"'Cause I think, think… he never told me, see, and I think he's really…"

Daxter gulped again, rubbing his neck.

"… Really, y'know, lonely."

_Oh sweet merciful_ gods _now she'll know he made a move on_ _me! JAK! ME! ARGH WHAT the HELL-_

When Keira finally spoke, Daxter was so engrossed in his personal mental screaming that he nearly jumped out of his skin for the second time in the last half hour. Even if she spoke so softly that it could hardly be heard.

"I don't know."

He glanced at her, but now she was the one who didn't look. She sat hunched, head dropping while the wrench kept twisting between her fingers.

"We never said anything about it, it just happened," she murmured.

A heavy feeling of regret cozily settled in Daxter's chest.

"Ah, Keira, babe, forget it, I'm sorry…"

She shook her head, but didn't straighten up.

"No, don't worry," she quickly said, a tiny smile in her voice. She shook her head again, cutting off another volley of stumbling attempts to patch up the mistake. "I just don't know."

One of her hands came up to cup her cheek, propping her up better than her neck seemed able to currently do.

"I just couldn't calm him down, I guess," she said. "He couldn't relax for long, he just wanted to keep moving."

"He does that all the time, it's nothing to worry about," Daxter said, trying to smile wider than he wanted to.

Keira let out a breath that sounded like half a chuckle.

"Yeah, I guess…" she mumbled. She took in a deep breath, and somehow Daxter managed to make himself wait and see. "I always worried about not being there if he needed me though. But, he's got you, right?"

Daxter choked out something like a weak laugh, trying not to let it sound too high pitched. It was pretty tough with the paranoid part of his mind hysterically screaming _she knows she knows she KNOWS AAARGH!_

Hence why he jumped when she touched his arm. Their gazes met in an instant, he being the one quickly looking the other way.

"Sorry, I didn't mean- he'll be back for you, Daxter," Keira gently said.

Oh. She'd meant it that way. Right, right. The Demolition Duo, always together, inseparable-even-if-you-use-a-crowbar way. Not the big-bad-hero-best-friend-suddenly-randomly-gay-for-you way.

Still…

_AAAAAARGH!_

He kept looking away, too afraid of freaking out to dare to say anything.

The hand fell from his arm back to Keira's knees, her voice softer than ever as she asked.

"Daxter, does he… does he have nightmares when you're there?"

Daxter's stomach turned to ice.

He stared down at the back of Keira's head, her teal hair falling down to hide her face.

"D-did you tell him what he screams?" Daxter croaked.

She shook her head.

"But you did hear him?" he insisted.

"Yeah…" she breathed, hoarsely. "'Don't touch me'."

Silence fell between them, cold and heavy. It lasted for what felt like hours, neither of them able to break it first. Daxter closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the hard wall.

His inner screaming had stopped, confusion and frustration frozen in Keira's words. Jak's words.

Cloth rustled softly, and he looked up when Keira straightened up. This time, he didn't turn away when their gazes met, even if the look in her pretty green eyes was painful.

"Does anyone else…?" she said, speaking low.

Daxter tiredly shrugged.

"Torn knows, but I think that's it. I told him not to tell Jak."

"That's good…"

Again silence fell, but its rule was short this time as they still looked at each other. Very soon, too soon, Keira drew in a short, vulnerable breath.

"Do you think…" she started.

But her voice broke.

Her dainty little fingers rose to her face, nails digging into the soft flesh of her upper lip. Daxter shuddered.

"I don't wanna think."

He turned away, fingers twisting around the hem of his shirt. Despite this, he could fully well note how Keira curled in on herself. Small shoulders rising as she hugged herself, raising up her feet on her tiptoes.

Before he knew it, Daxter had turned on his seat and put a hand on her shoulder. Keira gave a start, staring at him in surprise.

"You know babe, Jak wasn't ever reeeally angry at you for the whole Erol thing," Daxter said, talking a little too fast even for him. "He was just kinda worried outta his mind."

He realized the connotations of the last sentence too late, and made a face to cover up his flinch.

"Er, I mean, _he_ knew that Gingerman was a psycho," he quickly said. "He just wasn't so sure if _you_ knew."

"No…" Keira murmured, leaning back and closing her eyes. "No, I didn't."

They fell silent.

After a little while, Daxter's hand slid off Keira's shoulder and landed in his lap.

It was his turn to start when she suddenly straightened up. His curious gaze met with a determined look in her eyes.

"It just proves that he'll be back," she said, her voice steady. "No matter what."

Daxter's lips carefully stretched. Yeah, that was right, right? It'd be alright, Jak never let anything be wrong in the long run. He started to nod, opening his mouth to say something in agreement.

But then sweet little Keira, in blissful ignorance, punched him in the gut with her next line.

"We love him, right?" she said, smile brightening just a little bit for every word.

Until then, Daxter had managed to forget, for a little while, what had happened.

He bit the inside of his cheek hard not to scream, twisting his head to the side not to let Keira see his expression.

She gave a chuckle, and his hands clenched.

"It's not a manly thing to do, I guess," she said, weakly cheerful.

Oh. Right. She still didn't guess it, after all. But that didn't make her pick of words any less unpleasant.

"Ehehe…" Daxter muttered in an awkward laugh, rubbing his neck frantically. "S-sure aint."

He nervously glanced in Keira's direction when she touched his shoulder.

"So, feeling any better?" she asked.

_No…_ _yes… maybe?_

"Yeah," Daxter said, in a voice so steady that it surprised him. "Thanks, babe."

She smiled then, the last remains of unease falling away from her face. Daxter really, really wished that what was on his mind could do the same. As she stood up he did the same, and they headed back together, chatting about anything but battles… and Jak.

By the entrance to the control room, Daxter declared that he wanted to do something. Keira just smiled and nodded without asking any questions. He turned around as the door opened to let her in, waving over his shoulder as he left.

He started walking again, and didn't stop. Roaming the underground corridors of the HQ, not caring where he went, only trying to avoid anyone he might know – and to keep moving, to strangle the thoughts rattling around in his head.

He pondered skipping food for the sake of not wanting company, but dinnertime found him too hungry to keep it up. For as long as possible he stayed away from the dining hall however, which saved him from coming face to face with most of the gang. When he got there and grabbed a tray and plate of stew from the cafeteria ladies, only a few nameless lower officials were around – and Torn sitting in a corner, reading reports while shoving down what was probably just enough food to keep him alive.

From what Daxter could tell, the commander had just started eating when the redhead got there, and he finished his meal a couple of minutes after Daxter had sat down by an empty table.

Hardly looking up Torn put his tray away and left, still reading reports. He escaped without even knowing that he'd never been at risk for a jibe about his eating habits. Even now, Daxter couldn't muster the wit.

He had a really bad feeling about the near future.

Unfortunately, he was proven right when he eventually went back to his and Jak's room – _his_ room _only_ for the moment, thank you – and looked around while pushing the door shut. The light was still on since he had left. He had not remembered to switch it off, which didn't surprise him much.

Everything looked too much the same, far too much. Impersonal like the blandest guestroom – just a bed with pale bedclothes, a small table beside it, a perfectly cubic bureau for storing a couple of changes of clothes, and the door to the bathroom (which Daxter very pointedly avoided looking at, for that matter). Daxter had often said that heroes deserved better, but then… it was far more luxurious than Spargus, and he and Jak both slept much better _there_ than in Haven. Not that Daxter would ever admit it.

There was absolutely nothing for him to do here. But before, that had never been a problem because Jak had been there, and that was enough. Now though, he had no idea if he even wanted to see Jak again for quite a while.

Daxter finally let out a groan he had been holding back, sinking down onto the floor and cradling his head in his hands.

He had spent all evening turning it over in his head, but he was no closer to understanding now than he had been a few hours earlier. All he knew was that something had been made wrong that shouldn't possibly have been wrongable. And he was scared as hell of that change.

He needed to talk to Jak. More than anything else, he needed to get an explanation. To hear that it was just a really bad joke, if at all possible – but he couldn't really hold on to that crazy hope.

He needed that chat, he knew it. It would be easy too… Keira would surely lend him her communicator if he just said that he wanted to have a one on one conversation with Jak. But turning that thought over and over in his mind, Daxter only felt a cold nail crawl through his spine. He wasn't prepared for that, not yet.

How, just how could _he_ not be prepared to talk to _Jak_?

His hands slipped down to his chest and he hugged himself tightly.

"Idiot… idiot, idiot, idiot!"

What would Jak tell him when they got a chance to talk? What would he ask of his childhood friend now? Daxter didn't want to think about that, least of all.

Maybe… maybe it would feel better tomorrow, when he'd slept on it all and wasn't so shell shocked? At least, he could give it a try. And if that didn't help at all – which the cynical part of Daxter's brain grimly believed true – then he could always get dead drunk.

And then again, if he did that then he'd probably end up declaring the disaster to the entire city, and that was definitely not a good idea.

And if he was brutally honest, he highly doubted that he would be able to get a wink of sleep, despite the fact that his legs ached from all the walking and his arms and shoulders reminded him of all the weapon practice he and Jak had done in the morning. Despite that, he could have been dead with exhaust and still doubted that he would get any decent sleep. Dragging himself up from the floor, Daxter resolved to at least give it a try, despite his skepticism.

Unfortunately, skepticism seemed to hold a steady grip of his fate that night.

After turning off the light he laid still in bed for a little while, but then he started tossing and turning in a futile search for a comfortable position. His own brain gave him no rest, rolling the thoughts that had haunted him during the day over and over again. There was no solution to find now either.

It continued for a couple of hours, he wasn't sure how long. After an eternity, he did manage to fall asleep, briefly – only to wake up with a start. Blinking at the darkness, confused for a few seconds. Then he rolled over and fumbled for Jak, too groggy to remember… only to recall the truth when he realized that he was alone. Mentally cursing, he rolled over and angrily curled up again, closing his eyes hard.

Missing Jak and glad that he wasn't there, at the same time.

The same thing happened a second time, but this instance left him on his back, staring up at the blackness. Eventually, his eyes got used enough to the darkness to make out the bland, strict shadows of the room.

He covered his eyes with a hand, suddenly feeling naked without his fur.

Naked and lonely.

Bit by bit the anger peeled away under his exhaust, until only a dull throb remained.

He rubbed his forehead, trying not to think. In the next moment he let out a groan and rammed the back of his head into the pillow.

"Idiot!"

But the outburst ended there, and he went back to staring at the back of his own hand. His snapping breath was the only sound, apart from the low buzz of electricity. Some distant sound could be heard if he strained his ears, distant marching steps of the security guards. He kinda appreciated that sound now. At least it meant that there were other people awake.

A thought struck hard and he bit his lip. Was Jak lying awake many miles away, alone in his home in Spargus?

An evil thought muttered that he probably was sound asleep, the moron…

… but Daxter knew Jak better than that. He wondered, with a rising sense of dread, what would happen if Jak had a nightmare and he wasn't there to make it better.

He sat up, blanket sliding into his lap as he pressed both palms to his forehead.

Jak is a big boy, Jak is a big boy, Jak is a big bad hero who can take on half the world with his arms tied behind his back…

Except not even Jak was a hero in the middle of the night when his mind had taken him on a rollercoaster of his unspoken fears. Even if he was beyond better now in compare how it had been just after he'd gotten out of prison, who knew what would happen when he was alone? They hadn't ever, ever been separated since… then.

Daxter took in a deep breath and let his hands fall.

Okay. First thing tomorrow morning he was gonna get himself a communicator of his own, come hell or high water. Even if he'd have to pull everyone's hair to get it. Then, call Jak, sort things out _come hell or high water or mental breakdowns_, give him a shiny new number to call at any time in the day at all, and at least be safe in the knowledge that nightmares wouldn't be so scary anymore. If they could get past the whole… kissing… thing…

Which they damn well would. Right?

Right?

… right.

It wasn't exactly iron resolution, but it seemed to soothe the worst, current fears.

Feeling relieved, he laid back down and tried to fall asleep again.

Despite the ebbing unease, sleep still seemed to elude him however. Soon enough, the tossing and turning resumed, and continued for torturous, slow minutes.

Eventually, an idea crept into his tired head. At first it sounded too silly, though. Yet, as he laid awake, curling, straightening, turning, and not finding any rest, it begun to sound more and more… not sensible, but promising.

Finally he sighed and rolled out of bed, turning on the lamp on the nightstand and growling in pain at the stinging light. Stumbling on tired legs, he made it across the room and over to the far back corner, close to the bathroom door.

Jak's dirty clothes still laid in a pile there, forgotten. In the same motion as he turned around, Daxter bent down and ripped a shirt from the heap. Angrily clutching it, he went back to bed and switched the lamp off. He curled up beneath the warm covers again, holding the cloth against his chest. Close enough to feel the familiar scent.

He woke up once more before morning, briefly in the early hours – and only to find that he had bundled up the blanket into a roll. In his sleep he hugged it, still clutching Jak's shirt. Too sleepy to be annoyed, Daxter unrolled the blanket over himself and went back to dreamland.

Because of his inability to fall asleep for half the night, he slept until midday the next day. He would probably have kept sleeping too, if he had not been roughly awoken by the news that Jak had been shot.

* * *

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Jak.

I can't feel safe around exes. I just can't. They all wore masks, I can't, nobody could know what any of them did. What I might have done to them back then. Or they to me. And they can't know if I recognize them. But I never know.

So much happened… in the prison, I think sometimes I must have forgotten some things. Maybe some of it just blurs, because it was the same pain over and over again. But it never got to be mundane. Sometimes, something else happened, something to break the usual pain. All those times are the ones I wish I could forget the most.

I did see a face once, but I don't remember what it looked like. If I've met him afterwards, I wouldn't know. It was too quick. But then, it wouldn't surprise me if he's dead.

It wasn't so long after I started talking, I think. I know I must have been talking, because… because of what Erol did.

During one of those daily fights with the guards I managed to tear off one KG's mask and landed a punch in his face. In the next moment he had lifted me by the throat. He was huge, his arms too long for me to reach even to land a good kick. I still struggled, I didn't want to die anymore. Not until I could make them pay. But he would kill me, that's all I remember of the way his face looked. I heard some of the other guards call at him to stop, but they didn't really care. Nobody tried to do more than yell.

But I still struggled, but it was brief because he rammed my head into the wall. I lost consciousness, knowing that I was going to die like that.

As usual, I was wrong.

I woke up, lungs burning and my throat so sore I thought it would break if I tried to breathe. I couldn't see at first, couldn't hear anything but the buzzing in my head and the shrieking of my gasps.

Not sure how long it took before I realized how silent the prison was. Silent, apart from the wheezing of green smoke and distant, unknowing marching. Silent, apart from the murmur too close to my ear.

"Don't you die on me. Don't you dare. I'm not done with you."

I didn't want to breathe then, not when he wanted me to. But I couldn't stop.

And Erol stayed too close, sitting beside me and holding my shoulders, not even letting me slump.

When I looked to the side, the KG who had tried to strangle me laid knocked out on the floor a little ways away. Nobody else moved, the other guards recoiling when Erol glared at them. When he finally let go of my shoulders he massaged the knuckles on his right hand, muttering to himself. And scowled at the fallen guard.

I doubt that Erol didn't kill that guard later, because he dared to want to kill me.

That's the most disgusting thing of all.

End Introspection.

_Author's note: _

_I may have to raise the rating when the next chapter comes around. Only because of language though, I'm afraid. At least that's the reason for now._


	15. Sympathy of the servants

_Author's note: Beware of a whole bunch of OCs. I assure you they serve a purpose though._

_Junn Durann belongs to Demyrie, and she also gets the credit for some of Zem's nicknames. Ohoho! _

Chapter 14, Past Battles

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Pecker.

Oi, what a mess!

At least last time things bubbled over, we knew the boys in red would be shooting at the metal heads in the end. But now, it's all mecha boys in red running along with the monstahs instead.

Eh, you'd think that when a modern day prophet lady hands you lunch everyday, you'd have to worry less than I do, eh? Oooh, you'd think I knew all about what tomorrow brings, eh?

Waak, wrong!

No, no, no. Onin does not see the future. She sees possibilities. Shining roads diverging in every person's life, mingling with others.

Many of Jak's possible paths end prematurely. Harsh, but true. However, he is different for many others, for those possibilities that stretch on and on, they shine brighter in him than in many others. Yes, he has indeed been picked for important things. And when he comes close to others, their longer paths too grow stronger.

Ah, but others… they have so few paths that stretch on and on.

I had a job to do in Spargus, that's why I hopped off the transport with the rat when Jak got dumped in the desert.

I can't say I have faith in the furball's brain, but it's kinda touching to see what Onin saw back there. Not a single one of Daxter's possibilities led away from Jak in that moment. You don't see that often.

But it's got little to do with my job.

"_He is right. You will most likely die."_

Oh no, your lordship… but _you_ will most likely die. There are so few paths leading on, and they are weak, even after meeting Jak… or maybe because of that. My job is not to try to save him. A fatal possibility clearly revealed becomes unavoidable – that is the price to pay. No, we cannot risk that.

But other things, important, precious things, they can be revealed carefully. My job was simply to be of aid.

People tend to know some things, instinctively. But they do not always understand them, or believe.

The future is not yet written, not for Jak… nor his father.

End Introspection.

* * *

Night slowly trickled away as the sun rose and broke through the cracks in the wood covering the windows.

If Daxter had at least gotten a few hours of sleep after tossing and turning through half the night, he was still far better off than Jak. First light saw the blond hero bleary-eyed and heavy as a rock, staring at the ceiling.

Jak wasn't even sure how many, or few, minutes of sleep he had managed to snatch through the dark hours. They had been rare, and cut short as every hint of a dream beginning gave his overheated brain such a start that he jolted awake at once. And in between that, nothing to shield him from his thoughts about Daxter, like a red hot poker through his mind.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

In those rare moments that he managed to push the memory of those wide, blue and shell-shocked eyes from his mind, Arch's words dug into him instead.

"_Whaddaya think he sent Sig at ya in the arena for?"_

No. No.

Sometime around midnight, Jak had gotten up and stalked into the dark city, trying to walk it all off. It helped for a little while, but when he returned, hoping he had exhausted himself enough to actually sleep, nothing had changed. The unrelenting thoughts were still there the moment he laid back down.

"_Even Damas wants ya dead."_

NO.

And Daxter. Daxter, Daxter.

Now what? Now what…

Idiot.

The silence crushed down on him, with no soft little breaths or mumbling voice to shield him from his own mind.

Deep down, Jak knew he had to talk to his best friend, try to… what? Explain? He didn't even know how to greet Daxter after what had happened in the bathroom.

When the communicator buzzed in the early morning, Jak was so groggy that he hardly noticed at first. But finally he realized what it was, slouching over on his side and grabbing his backpack to pull it closer. The communicator laid on top of the bag.

Who'd call this early?

Daxter?

Deep down, Jak knew that the chances of that were close to nil, but it was his first thought – and it remained stuck in his mind until he rubbed his eyes and squinted at the display.

Damas.

Jak's stomach churned just a little less than it would have done if the call had indeed been from Daxter. He quickly pushed the button to answer, clearing his throat and hoping he would be able to speak despite his from sleeplessness dry tongue.

"Yes?" he croaked.

"Come see me as soon as possible," came the reply, Damas sounding as wide awake as any other time of the day and night.

With that, the signal died.

Jak lowered the communicator to the backpack again, then raised both hands and cradled his forehead in them. Trying to get a grip.

This was bad.

By now Damas must have heard from Nidle about the near-fight with Arch yesterday. And for as long as Jak had been in Spargus, he had never once heard the king address anybody with only one single, curt sentence. Damas was a man of as much words as action.

He had to be furious.

_I've done it again._

With a growl Jak got up and left the sleeping room, marching up to the water urn in the main room. After taking a deep draught from the dipper he splashed precious water on his face, slapping his cheeks until he felt a little bit more alive.

He still had a hard time remembering how exactly he got to the elevator taking him up to the throne room.

The grand chamber gave the same peaceful impression as always. Water trickled into the basins, offering a cool respite from the blazing heat outside. That never changed at least, regardless of whether you came up here to receive a mission, a kind word, or the reprimand of your life.

Damas rose from his throne when Jak stepped off the elevator.

_Did you really mean for Sig and me to kill each other?_

Even unsure of what to expect Jak needed to ask his question, but one look at Damas' face silenced him instantly. Not angry, which was certainly good, but sterner than usual – and that may be just as bad.

It was with a feeling of apprehension that Jak approached the throne, and Damas took a couple of steps down. He remained on the stair however, standing higher up.

"I got the report from Nidle about what happened between you and Arch, Jak," the king said. He briskly continued, but Jak still had ample time to clench his hands. "I know that he was the one goading you on."

The stern look softened momentarily, and for a second Damas looked tired – but in the next moment he had recovered.

"I'm aware that you and the Krimzon Guard have a rough past," he went on, frowning deeply. "I cannot tolerate that such things continue in Spargus, however. Things like what happened with Arch can spread and cause trouble."

Jak looked up at the king, silently watching the one man he could remember truly admiring. And deep down, part of him knew that now, he would be asked to leave this city as well.

The rest of him just wouldn't accept it yet. He still wanted, _needed_ Damas to think better of him.

He didn't even know if Daxter would ever want to see him again, after what he had done. It shouldn't hurt, he should be used to rejection by now. But it would. A buzzing threatened to fill his ears, promising blind, pure rage and sweet oblivion beyond it.

It didn't hurt.

"Because of that, Jak, I want all of you to prove to yourselves and me that you can coexist here," Damas said.

Jak blinked, then frowned. He met Damas' gaze for a moment, finally speaking only when it became apparent that the king waited for him to react.

"Fine. How?"

"I sent a troop to weed out the stingers in the ruins once already," Damas said. "It seems that some of them escaped, however. There have been no traces of new ones being brought there, but dead lizards were found again."

It dawned on Jak what may be asked of him, and he did not like it at all.

"I want you and a group of, hmph, exes-" Damas obviously did not like the term. "- to go there and take care of the remaining metal heads in the ruins."

A wicked inner voice immediately wondered if Jak was no longer trusted to handle something so small on his own. He quickly silenced it, however. This wasn't about that. When he turned it over in his head, he had to be grateful that the task was a simple one. It would be quick.

"Right away?" he asked, in a tone that only confirmed his acceptance of the mission.

Damas looked at him for a moment, probably taking closer note of the dark rings under Jak's eyes. But despite the facial signs of exhaust, nothing in Jak's posture or voice indicated that he was not well enough to fight. One may wonder how he would react if told that he did not look prepared.

The corners of Damas' lips twitched slightly.

"Be by your car in half an hour," he said. "I'll call on more team members in the meantime."

With nothing but a mute nod, Jak turned around and walked towards the elevator. As soon as the young man was out of sight, Damas allowed himself a slow sigh. It was a brief moment of rest for the king however, as he almost immediately sat down on the throne and picked up his own communicator.

The green, electric screen shone too brightly against the naturalistic landscape of the throne room. Even more so did the tiny letters appearing on the dark background, row upon row of headlines, lists. And more lists, and yet more, before the pushes of buttons finally began to actually list names.

Additional pushes would bring up even more list beyond the names flashing on the screen, of date of arrival, age, proven skills and bits of noteworthy information.

The database within the small contraption was a massive thing to comprehend, and Damas kept four backups of it. Uncharacteristic and perhaps a little disagreeable if one thought too much about it… but moments like this proved that it was necessary. There was simply no way for him to keep every citizen's information on his mind.

And he had no intention of making this situation worse by sending off a troop of people who could not stand each other. This had to work out, for every ex and Jak's sake.

Damas massaged his forehead with one hand, using the free thumb to bring up a list of former KGs. Another button sorted them by date of arrival to Spargus.

He had to ensure that the group at least consisted by a couple of men who should not have met Jak in Haven while they worked for Praxis. Unfortunately, this entire mission would have no meaning if Damas only sent off tattooed men with little to no reason to actually distrust Jak.

He would have to pick a few that may hold a grudge, and trust them to be professional. Even if he would have a word with them all before they left he could hardly (sadly) trust them to admit hating Jak's guts, not when asked by their king. The best Damas could do was to make sure he did not send anyone who had ever indicated being a troublemaker.

He had already spent a good deal of last night going through these lists and thought about it. Now he could only hope to have made choices that would work out – and trust his warriors.

If he could not do that, the entire city was in big trouble. Damas clenched his teeth, remembering a worried, tattooed face and a communicator held in tense hands.

"_There's something you gotta hear, your lordship."_

_At the push of a button a cool, smooth voice filters through the speakers. Water drips and softly splashes in the background, numbed by the words spoken. Unaware. Uncaring._

_The silence between the two men is thick enough to be cut with a knife._

"_I thought he was supposed to be dead."_

_The ex shrugs, violently._

"_I don't know, your lordship, we… we thought so, we all heard about it-"_

_He falters, clears his throat. Waits._

"_What is this?" Damas finally asks._

"_I don't know, sir." He fidgets with the communicator. "Several of us got this message a couple of days ago. Suppose our numbers are still stored somewhere, we- uh… what I want to say, sir-"_

_He folds up the small machine and puts it on his belt, leaving his hands free, empty._

"_We've been talking about it, your lordship, we-"_

"_Why was I not told immediately?"_

_There's no flinch. The man looks up, standing at attention._

"_We wanted to be sure about ourselves first. It cannot be absolutely certain, but as sure as we can be I assure you that nobody here is stupid enough to act on this. We work for you, your lordship, not Praxis or- ghosts."_

_After a moment Damas nods. The ex visibly relaxes a little, but as soon as he hears the words he straightens up completely again._

"_Do all of, hmph, you ex-KGs know about this?"_

"_Yessir. And now that you know, we won't keep it to ourselves anymore."_

"_Hm."_

"_There's something else, your lordship…"_

"_What?"_

_The man clenches his teeth._

"_If we got this message, then chances are that the marauders also did."_

_And they would only be happy to act._

_But Damas shakes his head almost immediately._

"_It does not change Jak's standing against them much."_

"_Not really, no, your lordship. I'd assume." A brief chuckle, though strained._

_Damas watches him, and he falls silent. Almost pleading, if his pride allowed._

_Believe in me, in us, lordship._

"_I will trust you all."_

Damas nodded to himself.

There was a whole lot more at stake than easing tensions, as all involved would realize. The exes had a whole lot more to prove with their loyalty.

He frowned at his selection when the screen flashed him the names he had marked. All of the six men had a clean record, there was no mark by their name that indicated that they had ever initiated any trouble. One was even picked for the small circle following his name – his information revealed that he had earned that mark for repeatedly trying to break up arguments. Also for saving other wastelanders – or even bodies of wastelanders – in battle. This group needed somebody like that. Damas moved that name to the top of the list, making note to make that ex responsible for the rest of the team.

The rest was a bit of wildcards, the king could not speak much for their personal traits. He met every citizen at one point or another, but befriended only a very select few.

Only for another second or two did he ponder the list. The last name on it was a bit of a cruel touch, he could admit it. Arch had said that there was a bit of tension between that mechanic and Jak yesterday. But they had already interacted then, and the gist of this mission was to prove that any such tension could be overcome.

Besides, if the metal heads tried to attack a car again, they may need a mechanic in place.

The name stayed.

Satisfied, Damas pushed a few more buttons. Jak's name appeared on the list, placed at the very bottom. It looked peculiar, with the rather long string of symbols indicating usefulness and skills. The most striking thing, though, was the reason that his name appeared at the bottom of the list – a fact that probably confused the computer.

The lack of a last name. There was only a question mark.

Damas had not felt it important at first, as he had dealt with people rendered amnesiac after one or a few too many hard hits on the head. In all other, similar cases the phrase "I don't have a last name" had meant nothing more than that.

He did not think of asking anymore after Jak's admitting to not have known his own father.

Still, looking at the question mark after that piece of information had been given, Damas kept finding himself frowning deeper.

He shook it off after a moment, getting to his feet. There were more important things to deal with.

* * *

Spargus did not do awkward. The city could not handle it. It was an emotion too silly and weak to be allowed in a place where the world demanded straightforward and unquestioned will to survive and nothing else.

That only made it worse.

Luckily there were not many other people in the parking area right then – lucky because there were less curious glances. Even Kleiver was off somewhere else, which was a shared relief. Even if nobody would admit there was anything shared except for a bleedin' mission putting them all in a bleedin' awkward situation.

Jak sat halfway in his Sand Shark, sitting sideways on the driver's seat and focusing on counting the ammunition in his morph gun. He did not need to do it, especially since he had was on his third run through the clips, but it kept his mind on something else than the tense exes standing a little ways away. They tried not to form a full group, but it was obvious that they were the ones who had drawn the short end of the stick. Four of them so far.

Ever since he arrived Jak had tried not to look closely at them, and they returned the favor. Everyone was acutely aware of the uncertain glances thrown his way, however. At least, after a visit to the white eco well Jak felt like he could actually make it through the day, but no eco in the world could prepare him for this.

He did throw a glance to the side when he caught a familiar figure in the corner of his eye, and frowned. Zem moved across the open area, gun slung over his shoulder and an extra belt for tools around his waist. One of the other exes raised his hand in brief greeting, which the mechanic answered with a distracted wave.

For a moment he stared towards the blond in the Shark, and one could almost hear him struggle not to chew on his lower lip. But then he continued, stopping a little ways away from the other tattooed men. If anything, he seemed to embody the communal feeling of unease.

Five of them now. Was that all? Yet, nobody moved to take the charge. Waiting for something, somebody to send them off into battle so that they could get this over with.

They did not have to wait long, but the tension was already so high that the sound of two hands clapping gave several of the reluctant team members a start. Even Jak looked up.

"Hokay people, stop fouling the air before you kill somebody!"

A sixth ex came strolling towards the unlucky assembly, gaze easily running across everyone involved. A couple of voices were raised in greeting, sounding a little bit carefully relieved.

Jak met the look when it came his way, frowning at the relaxed smile on the man's face. It looked bizarre considering the situation, and it did in no way make Jak feel any more at ease right then.

The latest addition to the group ran a hand through his short blond hair and did a double take. His grin widened even more as he took note of the one ex not looking at him.

"Why Zem, my man! You in? What dragged you into this mess?"

The man tilted his head stupidly. From the way Zem focused on checking that the tools hanging on his belt were properly stuck, it was quite apparent that he intended to ignore the other ex completely.

His resolve turned out to be weak when the next words hit the air, as disturbingly merry as the rest.

"Don't tell me, you signed up 'cause you got tired of waiting for Kleiver to drive you to an early grave?"

"Shut the hell up, Lev!"

The rage was immediate and brief – Zem all but bounced up straight, dwarfing the other ex by at least a head. But just as suddenly, though his mouth opened as if preparing a second volley of angry words, Zem turned and stalked off without another sound.

The air seemed to clear for every step he took.

"There she blows…" Lev muttered, smirk toying with the corner of his lips as he watched the dark skinned one go.

Jak had tried to ignore the whole exchange to the best of his ability, turning back his focus to his ammunition. But he couldn't ignore it anymore when Lev stepped up beside the Shark, blocking out some more of the searing sunlight.

"Yo," the ex said, not unfriendly.

No reply. Lev let out a short breath.

"Just laying down the law, man," he said. "Listen, I got thrown out here long before you started turning Haven upside down. I got nothing against you."

Jak finally looked up, starting to answer. But he paused for a moment, quirking an eyebrow when he took a first good look at the man.

There was something decisively odd with Lev. His smile looked perfectly friendly, teeth showing just the slightest bit. Tanned skin and muscular, but for an ex he seemed a bit thin. At first Jak thought it was the eyes, twinkling as easy-going as the smile – definitely not a KG's eyes.

But then, Jak realized that it was the familiar puzzle of grey that did not work out. He had seldom seen two exes with the same pattern stamped onto their face. It seemed to be a very individual thing, from Erol's simple stripes to Ashelin and Torn's more elaborate patterns. Still all those tattoos shared the feature of being perfectly regular, each side of the face perfectly alike.

Lev's tattoos were… not right. They seemed to have been meant to cut his face into two mirror sides, but the pattern was off. One big grey area crept up beside his right eye and reached out across his eyelid (proven when he blinked) – and on the left side was the same pattern, but smaller because it seemed to be pushed further to the side. As if the tattooists had been aiming too far to the left. Even the thick stripes on his neck weren't placed in tune with each other. The only thing that seemed to be in place was the blunt square covering most of the man's chin.

The result was an impression that Lev maybe should lean to the side to catch up with the mistakes on his skin.

"What, this?" the scrutinized one said with a chuckle, drawing a circle in the air around his face.

Jak frowned at getting caught wondering what the hell was up with this guy, but Lev just kept chuckling. He held up both hands in front of his face, moving them an inch to the side with a twitchy motion.

"Heh," he said, still grinning. "I don't know when to keep my mouth shut. The tattooists said I was lucky to come out with both my eyes still in place. Pff."

He threw out his arms. That most of the others were watching was underscored when a couple of the exes chuckled knowingly.

Zem was not one of them.

"Let me tell you it _stings_," Lev went on. "Anyway, I was going to sign up for a medical major but then somebody hollered that I was too tall and kicked me into the army instead." His voice remained free of malice, yet there was a bit of an annoyed flash in his eyes. It passed immediately however.

Without him even noticing it, Jak's tense grip of his morph gun had begun to relax – out of pure disbelief at the nonsense coming out of this ex-KG's mouth if nothing else. As it turned out, the nutcase was just getting warmed up.

"What I'm trying to say is that I wanted to be a nurse." Lev paused, throwing a glance at the sky thoughtfully. "No, wait. I mean the other thing."

Jak was very close to ask what exactly Lev was smoking, when the man suddenly whipped his head around and glared at the other exes. They remained still and watching – most of them at least.

"Hey, go look at something funnier!" Lev said. "Like, go ask my friend what he thinks about birthdays."

Lev gestured at Zem. And though the mechanic had his back turned to everyone else, one could read his mind in the way he tensed like a bowstring, neck straightening up.

"Ah, make that birthdays and-" Lev started again.

Zem spun around, and in the next moment a screwdriver shot through the air. It crashed into the sand a few yards behind Lev thanks to his quick reflexes. He only grinned wider at the look on Zem's face.

"- and handcuffs."

What followed was a stream of death threats and cussing, pouring out of Zem's mouth. Jak blinked despite himself, in his mind trying to combine this furious ex with the meek one he had dealt with yesterday. It only worked when he recalled Zem's reaction to being called a coaltop.

And then, just as suddenly, something seemed to click and Zem closed his mouth in the middle of a sentence. He settled for glaring murder for another second, then stomped forwards and past everyone else to pick up his screwdriver. Several of the other exes were snickering, though a couple did so with a bit of a confused look – while one, a bald man with a patch covering his right eye stood bent over, shaking with laughter.

"Hey Lev, was it his or that other guy's birthday?" the bald man managed to choke out between bursts of laughter.

The sound of Zem's footsteps instantly ceased.

Lev let out a chuckle, but lowered his head slightly. From his position however, Jak caught a flash of unease in the cheerful eyes.

"Mine."

It was a feral growl rising from Zem's throat, but it only made the already laughing men chortle even harder.

"And there's nothing to tell," the mechanic continued, trying to sear a hole in Lev's head with his gaze. "That moron just said that they- he'd have to cuff me to make me listen to congratulations."

"Cuff you to a bedpost. Don't forget the chloroform I was going to ask the higher ups for," Lev mildly said. But this time, he didn't look at Zem.

Before he knew what happened Jak got a mental image of Lev going up to Erol to request chloroform, specifying that he intended to use it to drug a guy twice his size and cuff him to a bedpost while he was knocked out.

Though the single un-tattooed man did his best not to, he found his own lips twitching at the insanity of it.

He realized it when he noticed Lev looking at him, and cleared his throat to regain his composure.

"What do you want?" Jak muttered, managing to keep his voice neutral.

"Ah yeah, I did have something to say."

Lev glanced over his shoulder, seeing the other exes still pretty much distracted – now dissolved in their own crazy stories from the past, from the sound of it.

They almost made it sound like the army was about trusting your friends and working together, not beating up civilians.

"Now, as I was saying before I got side-tracked… me and Mirache there -" Lev jabbed his thumb towards the bald ex, "- we're oldies. Came here before you got going in Haven. And happy-go-lucky Zem there, he just likes to bark at people. Dun' think anyone else here'd be stupid enough to do anything either even if they're fresher into the sand, but just so ya know. But, we're all friendly here, eh?"

He kept smiling, but a serious note crept into the expression.

"I don't want Praxis to go screwing up anyone's life here too, man," he murmured. "We can do this, right?"

After a moment, Jak nodded.

"Yeah."

Being friends with Torn and Ashelin, he should know Praxis had not only grown scum. He had trusted the two of them and even though it had not always been a smooth ride, they were both good people.

And Damas trusted him to handle this situation as was required.

Lev's serious look cracked in a relieved smile – if he was faking, he was one hell of an actor.

No. No, this man had Damas' trust as much as Jak did. Thinking of him as a KG who just happened to be in the wasteland, that was the wrong way to go. Especially in this situation.

"Good to hear that," Lev said. He turned around and raised his voice, stepping a few paces away. "Hey! People, listen up!"

This even got him Zem's attention.

"You know the drill," Lev said, gesturing towards the desert with both hands. "We go out there, we clean up the ruins all shiny, we go back, shake hands, and go on our merry way. Okay? Otherwise Damas will be pissed, but more importantly, I'll cry. You don't want to make a grown man cry, do ya?"

"You're a moron, Lev," one of the still anonymous men said, a tall one with a thin carpet of brown hair on his head.

The proper reply to this was, apparently, a deep bow, complete with one hand on his chest and the other reaching backwards at empty air.

"Thank you, I do my best." Lev straightened up. "Now are you getting to your cars or do I have to chase you with this boomstick of mine?"

He started reaching for the gun at his back, wiggling his fingers all the way.

Chuckling amongst each other, the men began to move towards their vehicles.

Jak shook his head in disbelief at it all, but though he wondered at the stupidity he had just witnessed, he realized what it had been for. He recognized the technique Daxter had worked on himself and his best friend for years.

Lev was well aware of the tension of the group. He had just done all he could to do something about it – after that circus it was hard to take any of this seriously. One had to wonder if Lev had planned it with Zem.

Though Daxter could probably have done it more smoothly. Jak gritted his teeth and started moving to get rid of his own brand of stupidity. He didn't need those kind of thoughts right now. He set himself properly in the driver's seat, folding the gun and placing it where he would be able to reach it quickly.

Speaking of Zem, as the others began to climb into their cars the mechanic pointedly ignored Lev waving at him, and instead climbed into the passenger seat of one of the others.

Didn't he have a car of his own?

Maybe not, Jak figured, if he preferred to be a mechanic rather than a fighter. It seemed odd in this society, but since Zem was here he must have retained enough training to prove himself.

What did it matter anyway?

Shrugging, Jak started the engines and rolled after Lev's Sand Shark as their clownish leader headed out into the desert. The others were close behind.

Maybe this would work out, after all.

* * *

The wind whispered sand across the carpets of cacti on long abandoned streets, but apart from that the ruins seemed oddly silent as the men turned off their cars. Normally, one would hear leaper lizards squeak to each other in a distance. But now, a frightened silence hung in the air around the empty cage in what had once been the town square.

At least, one could hope that the silence was frightened and not there because all the lizards had been killed.

That would not make anybody happy at all.

Of course, the ruins were not the only place in the entire desert where the lizards could be found, but it was the closest to Spargus and definitely the useful critters' best natural breeding ground.

Lev stood up in his car, shadowing his eyes as he scanned the area. The others waited, but kept looking around for safety's sake while doing so.

Finally Lev looked around and made a thumbs up.

"Since we're dealing with stingers I think we better do this one on foot, in two groups," he called.

He waited for a moment, but nobody protested. It made sense, even if they did not have to particularly like it. Metal heads, while not that bright, still used tactics. Stingers were simply too small and quick to deal with using heavy cars, especially in compromised areas like the ruins.

Seeing that the plan seemed to be passed unanimously, Lev addressed the troop again.

"Okay, Jelas and Jak, you come along with me. The rest of you stay here and make sure nothing eats the cars. You'll take the west side of town when we get back." He hopped onto the ground, waving at Mirache. "I'll keep my communicator on and dialed on yours at all times."

As soon as the bald ex had made a thumbs up in understanding, both men reached for their communicators to switch them on.

Jak slipped out of his car, morph gun in hand and set to blaster mod. Normally he would have preferred the beam reflexor, but if he was going to work together with two other people he did not want to risk the rebounds hitting either of them. That would be difficult to explain to Damas.

Looking up he met the third party member's eyes. Jelas turned out to be a man of about twenty-five, eyebrows gone and a scarf wrapped around his head to protect it from the sun. He pressed a strained smile onto his lips, looking away quickly.

His body language matched Jak's state of mind quite well.

Get this done, but don't make friends. Then forget it ever happened.

At Lev's signal to follow him, the two men started walking.

All three of them moved quickly and silently down the dusty street the leader picked, listening carefully for the smallest hiss.

For a long time, there was only the howl of the wind. A couple of times the shadow of a leaper lizard moved around a corner, disappearing quickly. They took note of where it went, listening even more carefully in case the animal got attacked. But nothing of the sort happened.

They had gotten through almost half their arc back towards the cars when Jelas suddenly pointed at a patch of cacti down the street. Jak squinted, but it took a few steps more before he saw that several of the thick, spiky plants were cut and broken. Sap thickly dripped out of the plants' wounds where in the shadow – those in direct sunlight were already dry and shriveling.

The sand too had been torn up, chaotic trails drawn around the cacti.

Even metal heads got thirsty. From the looks of it they had been there not too long ago either. The sap would not stay wet long even in the shadow.

"Got a track. May engage enemy soon," Lev muttered into his communicator.

"Roger that," Mirache answered, keeping his voice down as well.

They took a few steps closer to the green patch. The cacti grew close to the wall of a long building, but a big crack had opened up in the ruin very close to the plants. Many of the trails led into the opening.

As Lev stopped, so did Jak and Jelas. They remained silent, all listening.

Only the wind howling, coming from behind them. Not an ideal situation for hearing their enemies.

After a moment Lev nodded to himself and reached back, into his backpack. From its depths he pulled a sack made of some thick hide, so darkened and scratched that Jak could not tell what kind of animal the skin had originally belonged to. Lev pulled it open and turned it upside down, letting three round containers made of Precursor metal fall into the sand – none of them the same size, but all tightly sealed.

"Bait," Lev cheerfully said when he noticed Jak's raised eyebrow.

The tattooed blond put the smaller and bigger ball back inside the sack, stuffing it all into his backpack again. Then he grabbed the last container.

"Snack time, little uglies!" he muttered, pulling the plug on the grenade-like thing and sending it flying into the open area ahead of the three men, towards the cacti.

Instead of exploding, the metal ball painted a wave of purple darkness as it fell towards the ground. It landed with a thump, dark eco oozing out of it and pooling onto the sand. Lev quickly backed away not to get too close to the substance, the move urging his compatriots to do the same.

Jak tried not to sniff the air, but even from this distance he could feel the metallic smell of the eco. A feeling of emptiness churned deep inside his very bones – he had not refilled his reserves since he used up most of what he had.

When fighting Erol, just the other day. It felt like that had been months ago.

But the eco Lev had released smelled too strong, too concentrated. It would burn like hell. Regardless of what Jak knew about it however, he had to clench his hands around the morph gun to keep his fingers from twitching.

The container had hardly hit the ground before a distinct hissing rose up from the other side of the wall. The men tensed, preparing to fire their guns.

Two stingers dove through the crack in the wall and skittered through the cacti patch. The plants ripped and tore as bullets pierced them, the quick little monsters avoiding several shots before one of them suddenly threw itself up in an agonized arch. The skull gem popped free as it hit the ground again.

The other one slithered on like a bolt of black electricity, but a successful shot took care of that one as well. By that time however, more were coming out of the crack – diving directly towards the eco instead.

Oddly synchronized, with two having acted as decoys.

It did not seem perfect, however. The metal heads headed for the eco, but several of them suddenly snarled and made for the three wastelanders. In the next moment they turned back to the eco, skittered back and forth.

Confused.

They were quickly dispatched thanks to their hesitance. About a dozen skull gems and serpentine bodies littered the ground within seconds, the latter oozing dark eco.

Another round of hisses alerted the men a moment before six more stingers leapt from the top of the wall, soaring straight towards one in the group with their sharp tails ready to pierce.

Two were flung backwards and hit the ground, twisting in fury and pain but not quite dead yet. The wastelanders leapt out of the way for the others.

Landing on the ground, all the remaining metal heads dashed after Jak. He continued backwards, shooting one of them in mid-retreat. As weak as stingers actually were, they were quick and could reach farther than you'd first expect. He did not want to get too close.

A handful of shots rang out and the monsters collapsed in the sand. Jak stopped and looked up, meeting Lev's eyes as the man grinned and made thumbs up.

Even Jelas waved his fingers slightly, possibly relaxing just the slightest bit.

They waited, keeping their senses open.

After a minute, it seemed apparent that no other metal heads were within sniffing distance of the eco. Lev started forwards, waving at the dead stingers that had gone for Jak.

"With fangirls like that, I'm glad I'm not famous," the blond ex said, cheerfully smirking.

Jak just snorted and shook his head. As he kept talking, Lev pushed at the orange little container with his gun, rolling it further away from the remains of the eco and turning it so that the opening disappeared into the sand. The dark substance had already begun to seep into the ground.

"All clear here," Lev said into his communicator. He turned to Jak and Jelas, motioning at the skull gems lying about. "Pick up the loot and divide it later?"

Nods answered him, and he seemed perfectly satisfied with that. Turning the metal ball over again he bent down and peered into it, then carefully lifted it in a gloved hand and took a closer look inside. When he was sure that there was no eco left he reached for the sack in his backpack.

Jak stopped paying attention about then. Really, he had not wanted to do this while there were people watching, but the smell of eco made his throat dry. He needed a recharge. Only having light eco in his body made him feel as unbalanced as… no, it wasn't as bad as when there was only dark eco and no other options. But still, not at ease… and he did not need any other reason to be uneasy.

He reached out, and the eco seeping from the stingers' bodies swirled towards him. It clung, bit into his skin, hot and cold all at the same time, the sensation tingling through his entire arm and on to his body until it was all absorbed and settled.

The slimy feeling lingered for a second, but after that came a pang of satisfaction.

Too weak, however.

He looked up, unable to keep from glaring at the two tattooed men. _Well?_

Lev was already halfway through a slow whistle, watching Jak with some surprise… but nothing else. Jelas, on the other hand, looked away as soon as he realized that Jak was looking his way, lips pressed so tightly against each other that they turned white. After a moment he did turn his face back however, looked at the younger man for a second and then turned the other way again, rubbing his forehead.

Lev gave him a smack on the shoulder that almost made the other ex jump out of his skin, judging from the look on his face.

"Whazzap, my man, they were just teeny tiny stingers!" Lev said.

Many others would only have managed to seem ridiculous when using such a phrase in such a situation, desperately trying to avert attention from what was truly horrific. Somehow though, Lev managed not to.

He turned to Jak and winked.

"Excellent serving of metal stew, if I may say so. Shall we find out if there's any dessert?"

And with that, still holding Jelas' shoulder, he started forwards. After a moment – when the other ex walked on his own – he let go, instead putting his hand on Jak's shoulder guard as he passed.

I'm okay. You're okay.

For a second, Jak stared at the back of Lev's neck before he began following their leader as well. Then suddenly Lev looked over his shoulder and fired off a grin.

"Hey, don't burn a hole in my back, please." He turned around, walking backwards for a couple of steps and pointing at Jak. "And don't think you can shock me, buster, I've been in the sand box for years. I've seen it all. Including you going wild on the marauders in the arena."

Jak didn't say anything, but the corner of his lip twitched.

They quickly collected the skull gems without much talking and then continued. Pretty close to the end now. For the rest of the mission, they would just have to wait for the other half of the group to complete their round.

He still didn't like the situation and he was still tired, but the adrenaline kick from the fight, and the eco, made Jak feel a bit more alert. And, as much as he hated to admit it, things weren't going so badly.

Though Daxter and Jinx remained the silliest people the blond hero had ever been on a mission with, Lev climbed close.

Jak started to push those thoughts away, when his musings were cut thankfully short with more action.

There was a shout from ahead, where the cars were parked. An angry shriek followed, suddenly cut off by a gunshot. Neither were the last of their kind.

"Got a bunch of 'em here, Lev!" came Mirache's voice through Lev's communicator.

Even before the words were spoken, the trio were running. Normally rushing along in the desert was discouraged but they were in the shadow of the buildings, and it was not that far to go. Lev immediately grabbed the communicator and held it up.

"On our way," the blond ex called into the speaker.

He returned the equipment to his belt, then turned his head to the man hurrying along beside him.

"I've got horrible news, Jak. I don't think the metal heads like you anymore."

Lev gestured towards the continuing noise from the center of town, taking on a sad expression in mid-sprint.

"See? They're totally adulterous."

Daxter would have a ball with this guy, possibly in the good way for once. The thought came uninvited, bouncing off Jak's instinctual wonder at why his best friend wasn't firing his mouth right back at Lev already – momentarily forgetting that Daxter wasn't there.

He pushed the thought aside, shaking his head at Lev and snorting. This gesture got a wide grin in return.

Months later when Jak met GT Blitz, he would remember Lev because of the blond hair and flair for the dramatic. However, unlike the noisy commentator he would not come to remember the friendly ex with any sense of vehemence.

* * *

Zem had never before questioned Damas' judgment. He was old enough to remember Haven as it used to be, if only vaguely. To find out that the legendary king was alive had been an almost pleasant thing to wake up to once upon a time, though the whole "survive against a dozen angry marauders or die" thing muddled the experience.

Life in Spargus, while not the happiest time Zem could remember, was overall good. He had come straight out of a year of working in hell into rough, unforgiving work to stay alive, and the change was better.

Hard work, at least, made it easier not to think.

Damas made all of it possible, and made sure things stayed that way. The man was born a leader.

This whole thing, however, was _not a good idea_. No matter what the intention was. So far it seemed to be going well, but all it would take was a slight misstep and the whole thing would explode.

Zem was sure of it. He would not stop being sure of it until all seven of them were safely back in Spargus without a disaster occurring. Even when the handful of stingers attacking the men by the cars were easily taken care of as soon as Jak and the others joined the rest of the group… no, he could not believe it would work out.

But, placing Lev on this mission did make things easier. Regardless of the fact that Lev drove Zem up the wall whenever he opened his big mouth, the stupid blondie knew how to tackle people. Like right now, checking a scratch on Jelas' arm, talking all the while to make all of them forget that none of them felt very enthusiastic about being on this job.

It suddenly struck Zem that despite Lev's talking, it was oddly quiet. There was an empty silence around Jak, a missing voice that had always been there every other time Zem had had the bad luck to be in the same area as the youth, at least in Spargus.

Right, his babbling pet. Where the heck was that rat? Had he finally gotten himself eaten by something?

"Calling the bignasty! Hey!"

Lev waved his hand, looking at Zem expectantly. But the mechanic didn't move, ignoring the leader completely.

"You know I mean you, Zemmy!" Lev called.

Letting out a sigh, Zem finally threw a glare in the right direction.

"_What_?"

"Would the big baby stop hiding behind the car and let me fuzz over him?" Lev said, drawing a snerk or two from the audience.

"I'm _fine_."

"Yeah, I remember the first time you told me that, when you-"

"_Shut up_!"

Lev paused at the snarl, blinking a few times. Then he tapped his cheek with a finger, thoughtfully.

"Ooh, right. We were never, ever going to talk about that thing again," he said, nodding. He sobered. "Fine then, I'll just trust you about being unhurt."

With that, he turned to somebody else to discuss the upcoming second half of the mission.

Zem turned his gaze away, trying not to listen. Off the top of his head he couldn't think of what Lev meant with "the first time you told me that", but he knew the stupid blondie. If there wasn't originally some crazy story, he'd make one up. Always had.

Friggin' clown.

Still, no matter how much the guy stepped on Zem's nerves… Lev was his only connection to what had been before things went totally down the drain. No matter how much it hurt, Zem was not prepared to completely sever the line.

He had yet to honestly tell Lev to leave him the hell alone. Or at least, he had not said it loud enough to make the blondie listen.

Or maybe Lev was not prepared to sever that line either, for Zem was just as much _his_ only connection to that time of their lives. They had both lost a friend then.

Zem clenched his teeth, trying to shake himself out of those thoughts before he went too far. It was the last thing he needed.

He looked around, eager to get going with the hunt. At least then, he would get something else to occupy his mind. Being out on a mission with Lev just… wasn't right. And being on a mission with _Jak_… Zem just had no idea how he could bear it at all, himself. Yet he had been out in the field with Jak yesterday too, and he was still breathing. Heart still beating.

It was different, now. The kid wasn't a kid anymore. Free.

Zem breathed deeply, running his gaze over the group again just to get his mind the second volley of unwanted thoughts.

And then he saw what was happening.

The hot air stilled, heavy as glue to breathe, to move in. Zem knew he moved forwards but he couldn't tell how quickly – only that it was too slow. A thousand times had he seen the same thing, well enough to know from the second the thought went from a man's brain – _enough!_ – and down to his hands, even before the finger tightens and pulls the trigger.

There is a world of difference between a man drilled by Praxis being tense with a gun in his hand, and being tense as he focuses on the thing he hates and fears. As the fears focus, there is only one knowledge overriding every sense – _need kill the enemy_.

_No, no…!_

Zem didn't know if he cursed. Desperately shouting a warning – he could only hope that somebody else noticed, because he was not winning against the trigger being pulled.

This had not happened _in there_, it couldn't happen out here – not where Damas was in control, and Praxis was dead and couldn't hurt anybody anymore, couldn't give anyone orders to hurt and hurt and hurt until there was nothing left to beat.

There was no order to kill.

Even as he fell through the air Zem only knew that he had never, ever done a thing to stop anything, not when it really mattered. And now, when he finally did, he would be too late. He'd known it would happen, and yet he wouldn't be there on time to stop it.

Jak wasn't even aware of the gun aimed at his back.

* * *

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

A shot pierced the shout halfway through, but the warning came in such force that the one shouting had to finish it. Jak moved before "the", ducking aside – driven by battle instincts and the knowledge that had been with him the whole time. The knowledge that he was among enemies.

But the shot rang out and his right arm exploded with pain. He toppled with a hoarse snarl, clawing for the hurt to stop it and turning, turning to face the danger and all he saw was red.

Red, and tattooed faces.

"You crazy fuck, the hell d'ya think you're-!"

"Oh shit-!"

"Let go! Let go, fucking traitors-!"

Several of them attacked one who shouted louder and fought back, the gun in his hand sharply reflecting the sunlight.

… sunlight…?

"Jelas, what the flying-"

"He killed them! Killed them! Let go I'll kill the little-!"

Harsh voices shouting, hands grabbing, tattoos, red scarves- no, armor- grab_bing, tearing don't don't pain needle poison numbing can't move-_

"Shit- guys! Shit, he-!"

"Holy…!"

What had been a groan of pain deepened into a rumbling growl.

_Don't touch me don't touch me __**break him**_ _don't don't I'll kill-_

Black claws dug into the hot grains of sand.

… sa… nd?

More cursing, harsh and sharp but they didn't attack, they backed away- hesitant cowards. No, no wait, something's wrong.

He growled again, plunging his fingers deeper into the ground. The other hand wouldn't respond, it hurt too much to try and he wanted to kill them, kill them for hurting him again and again.

But something was wrong and every raw instinct screamed to act, act before they do, before it's too late. And still something else screamed to wait because he had forgotten something important, he lacked it, had to know… what could be that important?

No! Kill them, kill them before they hurt you, before they grab and tear and shove you on that table-

"… in the legs?"

"An' piss him off even more? It won't stop him, I've seen it-"

"Kill him you-"

"Jelas, _shut the hell up_!"

It didn't make sense, nothing made sense, why weren't they attacking? Weapons held for blocking- planning something? He sought better purchase, to prepare to move at the first threat but the ground was too soft. It should be hard and cold. Nothing made sense.

_I don't understand I don't know Daxter what's going on tell me Daxter!_

There was no shrill, soothing voice.

He was alone.

Lips drawing back from his fangs he snarled, daring them to come at him. He wouldn't go down, wouldn't let Praxis get him again.

"Holy shit, what do we do?"

"Damas'll fucking kill us anyway!"

… what? What what?

Something was wrong, so wrong.

Da… mas?

That was important, he shouldn't attack and he knew it, just couldn't remember why. But there was so much pain and heat and he couldn't think, struggling just to hold on to that name. Didn't even know why he fought for it, just that it was precious, too precious to let go of.

Damas. Damas…

He had stopped growling, even though he still held his teeth bared. And they had stopped backing away, muttering amongst themselves except for the one who was still struggling against the two who held him.

_Is that me no doesn't make sense…_

One of the group suddenly took a step forwards and he stiffened immediately.

Erol…?

No… no this one had dark skin. Taller than Erol. Somebody else, somebody warm- Sig? Who? No, black hair.

The others were silent now, watching the one who moved another step.

Claws dug through sand, uncertain.

Empty dark hands, palms pale as if they had been painted. No gloves.

"Jak, listen to me… please listen."

They never called him Jak, it was always "kid" or "brat" or… only Erol and Praxis ever called him by name, coating it with filth. But it wasn't either of them.

He blinked, sluggishly. Drew back half a step, still crouching, still angry and uncertain.

"It's not… we're not it, Jak. We're not KGs. Praxis is dead. It's not what you think."

The voice was too low and trembling. A pause, a breath.

"Gods, it's… it's not what you think."

Another step and that one smelled of something like fear but even that was wrong, he wasn't like those who laid bleeding and whispering. He was scared of something else. So scared that his voice turned low and hoarse.

"Jak, c'mon man. Damas is waiting for us."

Damas. None of the words made sense, but that name.

Damas didn't want him to kill them. That was important. So important that he couldn't.

He sunk down, trembling and swinging with his breath. Power crackled around him, hissing because he was letting go and it didn't like that. Thoughts began to filter through his mind, clearing up the closer to the ground he sunk, and yet he could not grasp one. Only that there was pain and heat, blackening out his sight.

He tried to raise his head, squinted at the mess of colors in front of him. They moved, spun over themselves, hot pale brown and unforgiving blue twisting into each other. In between the twist, darker smudges that grew quickly, and he thought he heard something that sounded like distant voices.

His eyes rolled upwards and he crashed on the ground, hearing steps approach.

If they had fooled him after all, he no longer had the strength to fight nor care.

* * *

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Lev.

Krimzon Guards aren't bad… by default. Okay, so 97 percent of us were, give or take a couple of points. Then there were those poor sods gifted with a sense of basic morals, like everyone's favorite resistance leader Torn. Not that I ever knew him. I got thrown into service, spoke up, and got thrown out after his time in the Guard. Maybe unfortunately before the resistance grew big enough for me to turn to them.

"Maybe unfortunately"? Yup, I'd probably gotten myself killed one way or another if I joined them.

Eh, says I – the guy who's survived years of overgrown metal heads and sandstorms and men with spiky things on their shoulders trying to kill me. But you learn to love even a metal head the size of a small house, when you realize that it's easier to reason with the beastie than with a human. At least a human in red uniform.

But not all of us were bad, as I said. Not all of us are walking, talking time bombs of military service. Well, can't really blame some people in Spargus being a little suspicious of all the ink stamped on our fronts.

Blargh, can't we all just get along? Ha, check my Junn impression.

Junn?

... I'd rather not talk about him. I'd say ask Zem, but you'd just get a faceful of fist coming at you at 100 mph.

Hnn… well, there's a great big void in time, see? The three of us, well, the two of _them_ and me tagging along, doing my best to drive my dear ol' bignasty up the wall. Anyway, toddling about in the Guard. If I was outta place there, Junn was worse and Zem kept telling us we were both idiots.

Actually, now that I think about it, "idiots" is the nicest thing I recall him ever saying. 'Course, after a while he got too head over heels to call Junn anything vaguely negative.

I can just imagine it, and it makes me keel over laughing. "Bad Zem, no biscuit!"

Ahem.

We had a subject somewhere in here, didn't we?

Right, the great big void in time.

Things went wrong when Zem got moved from guard duty to… well, something that neither of them would tell me about. Now normally, Junn would be the first to ask "What's wrong?" and not knowing when to quit until he got an answer. So when he clammed up at me asking him that… it was real mucky bad.

So Zem just went poof. Totally.

And I got the boot – hard, yessiree thank you – not long after that.

I found out that he had poofed back up in Spargus only months after he got here. He was… odd. I always remembered him as non-stop angry. Now, he was just… off. Off the rocker and still swinging.

Also, maybe I should say that when I found him he was… err, low on iron, and losing more quickly. Dripping out of him, one could say. That's the kiddie friendly version. Ah. Let's just say it's lucky I've kept up with my skills in patching people up, past band aids.

He even agreed that he was the idiot then.

Man. I don't even want to know what happened to him when he was gone. But I know where he was, and even a cheerful guy like me can get the picture. Praxis liked to play a nasty tune and the rest of us could just try to keep up the footwork and hope to the Precursors' socks that we wouldn't stumble.

Zem did, though.

And we'd both lost track of Junn.

Yeah, I'm sure you're wondering what this has to do with anything. That's okay, folks, Junn going missing is _our_ problem. So right, here goes.

Zem won't say a word about what happened to him while he was gone. But I've seen him stare at Jak now, when he thinks nobody sees it. Staring like he's looking at a ghost. 'Course, lots of people are a little nervous of the blond wonderboy. Not like Zem, though.

I think I'll just try not to breach that subject.

He's not a bad guy though, Jak. A bit freaky, but really, aren't we all in some way?

Damas wanted us to understand that, I know. For Jak to know that us gruntworkers aren't bad, just like Torn and miss Ashelin aren't… and us to know, he's not a monster. And everyone in the city to know that too, about all of us, because we could coexist on a mission.

Too bad it went to hell.

Oh, I'll love to give the king of the sandhill this report.

I'm sorry, I'm normally a lot funnier than this. It's just that I'm in a rotten mood… though I suppose it will get worse, if Damas decides to feed me to his pet birds for screwing up like this. Gods, I didn't know. I had no idea about what Jelas had seen Jak do, that he hated him that much.

Nobody's having a good day here, people. Hope yours is better. Now move along, we've got a job to do.

End Introspection.


	16. The verdict

Chapter 15, Facing the Past

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Damas.

There's something about Jak that I'm not… sure what to think of.

I have no time to stop and ponder absurdities. Survival is the only thing that matters in Spargus, and moments of contemplation should only be used for planning strategy. I cannot afford to be confused.

Spargus is built by survivors, and so it must remain. The desert has only a slow or brutal death in store for those who are weak – and in both cases, it will be painful. Of course, the danger is the same for all, but with the strength and will to live, we can stave it off for as long as possible.

I too expect a brutal death to be mine, when that day comes. Everyone here must be prepared to face that reality.

The arena is the only way for us to tell if people are prepared.

Yes, it is harsh. Inhumanly harsh, perhaps. Maybe I would have condemned myself for my own cruelty, years ago. But, I am a different person now, and Spargus is not Haven.

I should give credit where it is due. I will not say that Praxis broke me, for I am still standing. Yet he did destroy something, even in me – like he destroyed so many other things, and people.

Was I unreasonable in my fury towards Sig and Jak when they threw down their weapons in the arena? From an outside perspective, I'm sure it seemed so. And yes, my past self would have condemned the man I am now… but my past self would not know what I know now. He would not yet have hesitated to strike against a man who was once a trusted friend, strike when I should have. If I had… things would have been different. Lives may not have been destroyed, people may not have been killed, and my son would still be safe.

And then again, perhaps I would still have fallen in the end.

Every life branches off in thousands of possibilities, but in the end, what does it matter? I am here, alive, and a near merciless leader I have become. Or I was. Even as I fear dark gods may drop down on all of us any day now, I find myself with more hope in my chest than I can remember harboring in years.

Perhaps the two of them broke my downwards spiral in that moment, when they refused to fight. My fury was… yes, I will admit that it was fear. For years Sig has been my sole hope for my son, and Jak's abilities made me believe that we all had a greater chance at living through whatever is coming. To see them hesitate, and stop… repeat the greatest mistake of my life, that I could not forgive. Not when I vested so much trust into both of them.

No, the king of Spargus should not become so dependant on anybody. Give me an instant of it, however. At times I have been so tired.

Still I am tired, yet… I feel a little revived. Perhaps there is more hope than I dared to believe.

Believe?

I am not one to believe in anything I cannot see, anything I cannot prove.

And yet…

Pecker is a peculiar creature. I would not have taken him in as I did if I had not been fully aware of who he serves. While Sig reported that Onin could not divine where my son had gone to, I know the oracle can speak true. It is not mere superstition if it is proven true, as she has been right in the past. All too right, about the darkness growing behind my back in Haven.

Part of my mistake, to not listen, or not understand, what her odd prophecy meant.

It does not matter now.

Pecker is part clown, part the eyes and mouth of an oracle – serious only when there is a need for it. He was – or he and Onin were – not amused by my outrage at Sig and Jak's refuse to fight. Not that the monkaw would dare to outright patronize me, but he said… something.

"_There's more to this rage than you think. Look closer than you dare to, your lordship. Look closer and believe."_

Believe?

What can I believe in, apart from the fact that my subconscious is playing a game with me, crueler than even the desert?

It is… absurd. Green eyebrows above wide blue eyes prove nothing.

Simply absurd.

End Introspection.

* * *

Jak was vaguely aware of movement, but he was not sure if he was simply dreaming. All he knew was that the world was burning red, digging straight into his brain through his eyelids, through his eyes, and he couldn't do a thing about it.

The red came from his arm too, but that was different. It flared as the movement suddenly stopped, but at the same time the pain stabbing his eyes eased up.

… shadow…

There had been heat, loneliness, confusion… right…?

He struggled to grasp the fading thoughts. Somebody was talking, murmuring, but he couldn't make out a single sound.

Then suddenly he heard a soft, crunching sound of somebody sitting down close by. Fingers brushed his ear, touching the back of his head. He didn't like it, didn't want the invasion but he couldn't move, couldn't speak to make it stop. But it disappeared just as suddenly, and with it a hot tension around his head peeled away, leaving rubber-like, sweaty skin.

A moment passed, and then a moist cloth touched his burning brow. It was lukewarm and the motions clumsy, but the wet fabric felt like cool silk against his skin.

The murmur around him grew closer, sharp to his ears.

"Okay, okay… Jak? Jak, you're awake, right?"

Somehow, he managed to pry his eyes open a little bit. His vision swam and he struggled to focus, only seeing a mess of blurs in various shades of brown and green. He closed his eyes again and grunted to ascertain that yes, he was awake, but much more he couldn't promise.

Somebody was holding him up in a sitting position, a big hand on his right shoulder and another on his back. He tried to sit up on his own, but at the first motion pain shot through his left arm and he grunted again, sharper.

Thoughts moved sluggishly, trying to piece things together. His head throbbed in a familiar way, and the two grunts had only served to underscore how painfully dry his throat was. Using dark eco to fight in the desert and not enough water and then the pain…

It came back to him slowly, sluggishly not only because of his exhaust but because he somehow knew that when he knew what had happened, he would realize something he didn't want to understand.

But it slithered into his hazy brain, crystal clear and merciless.

Damas would be furious when he found out about this.

Jak's head rolled back in a silent groan, stopping when it hit something hard. From the surprised sound and swing of the hands holding him, it was probably the shoulder guard of whoever was holding him. The cloth seemed to hesitate, but then touched his forehead again.

The sky was too bright even with the shadow leaning over him, and he wished he could raise his hand to cover his eyes.

"… he…n't… look s…"

"… think we ca… op worr…"

"... ne… to gi… im… water…"

Half words and sounds floated in and out of his ears, too vague for his brain to connect them into phrases. The only thing he managed to focus on was that strangely enough, they didn't sound angry or very scared.

He couldn't understand.

More voices, the cloth moved to his cheek and somebody else seemed to grasp it. A still wet hand pressed against the back of his head, raising him up. Jak cracked an eye open. He still could not see very well, but at least managed to distinguish that a tanned blur sat beside him, raising a darker smudge.

"Can you hear me?" the big blur said, speaking slow and clear. Unthreatening. Concerned.

What…

Jak tried to make a sound, but now his throat was too dry for even that. He could only move his lips a little. The darker blur came closer, gently pushed to his lips and tipped. Water trickled over his papery tongue and he closed his eyes, swallowing greedily. He was allowed to keep drinking, until it was all gone. Only then was the flask removed.

Feeling somewhat more alive Jak looked up again, and this time the blurs began to take shape. The closest one became Lev, watching him with a worried frown.

"You with us now?" the blond ex asked.

"Ngh… yeah…" Jak muttered.

He tried to straighten up again, but gave that up for another little while when his arm flared and his stomach lurched.

"How many fingers?" Lev asked, holding up a hand.

Jak squinted for a moment.

"Three?" he rasped.

"Now we're getting somewhere."

Where was the threat?

"So…" Lev said, lowering his hand. "I've heard a rumor that you can use some power of sparklies -" he wiggled his fingers, "to fix yourself up. You up for that?"

The only proper reply to that, especially in this situation, was a blank, tired look.

Shrugging, Lev grabbed something from the ground beside him and set it down closer by. A first aid box, the familiar red symbol flaking from the dully grey metal.

"Figures. Then we'd better get with the old-fashioned way," Lev said.

Jak managed to mutter a somewhat coherent reply.

He sat still – didn't even have to force himself to, because he couldn't make himself move much at all – as another one of the exes sat down beside Lev and started loosening the laces holding Jak's shoulder plate. Jak couldn't bother to remember what his name was, if he'd even ever heard it.

The shoulder plate and eco ring with its leather straps were removed, but the man wisely did not make a move to do something about the tunic. Lev, meanwhile, produced a roll of bandage, a small bottle and a bag of cotton balls from the box. He shuffled the second guy out of the way, talking all the while as he drenched a cotton ball with the clear liquid from the bottle.

"I think we're all grateful that the bullet went through," Lev said. He took careful hold of Jak's elbow and lifted the wounded arm closer. Despite the gentle movement Jak clenched his teeth at the stab of pain. Lev kept talking, eying his patient and waiting for the constricted expression to relax a little. "It's just a flesh wound. You'll be up and killing metal heads in no time with a little green eco salve on top of this old-fashioned stuff. Just have to bear with the basics first as we clean you up, I'm afraid. Do you want to chew on something while we do this?"

Jak let out a heavy breath, and nodded. Anything that could help, in this situation.

The ex who had removed his eco ring and shoulder plate immediately grabbed a roll of bandage and a pair of scissors from the box. He cut off a generous piece of the clean cloth, folded it a couple of times and lifted it to Jak's lips so that the patient could bite down on it.

With a glance at Lev, the ex threw the bandage roll and scissors back into the box and unhooked the water flask from his belt. He met Jak's gaze for a second, then tipped the bottle above the wound.

A sharp breath, nothing more escaped Jak as the water crashed on the fountain of blood, flaring against the vulnerable flesh. It was brief, only enough to clean off the worst gore. Luckily, he had managed to keep the wound away from the sand even as he fell.

The other man withdrew maybe a little too quickly, but if it was from fear or respect was impossible to tell.

"Okay. Count the grains of sand now…" Lev said, raising the wet white ball in his free hand as orange-colored water still dripped onto the hot, thirsty ground.

Jak gritted his teeth against the cloth in his mouth, but did not make a sound as Lev dabbed the bullet wound with the cotton. The smell of alcohol filled the air, only making him feel dizzier. Lev soon discarded the first ball when it turned almost completely red with blood, and picked up another.

With two wounds it took even longer, but it was certainly more pleasant than it would have been if the bullet had still been stuck in his arm.

"There we are," Lev said when he felt satisfied with his work, almost cheerful again. He grabbed the bandage roll and handed it to his nameless assistant, then returned to the box for two pieces of padding and a metal bottle.

Another ex moved into view and took the items from Lev's hand. It took a moment for the blond to recognize the newcomer as the guy with the eye patch. Mirage or something. No… Mirache.

Whatever his name was, he put the two small pillows in his lap, then opened the bottle and tipped it over. A syrupy, green liquid dripped down, seeping into the clean cloth. Once satisfied, Mirache put the bottle aside. He looked up to meet Jak's eyes, then lifted and pressed the pieces of padding against the two wounds. The flaring pain elicited a hiss from Jak, but after a couple of seconds a cooling sensation crept into his muscles. The eco salve was not the best thing, but it did its work.

As the pain began to ease, Jak sluggishly reached up and pulled the bandage-piece out of his mouth. It still hurt, but not so much that he had to make himself stand the soaked piece of cloth any longer. The white square fell from his fingers onto the sand, and nobody cared about it anymore.

"By the way," Lev said as he took over the bandage roll and began to wrap it around the arm, locking the padding against the wounds. "Sorry."

Jak looked up from focusing very hard on his own breathing as the bandage was tightened. Catching on to the dully confused look, Lev nodded to the side.

"About Jelas," he said. He pursed his mouth. "He was in the water slums. I didn't know. None of us did."

That did not help much at first either, but slowly the memories of shouting and swearing rose from the fog in Jak's mind. He looked in the direction that Lev had nodded. The cars still stood parked in the center of the ruined city, not very far away. The kneeling men huddled in the shadow of a tipping wall.

Jelas was nowhere in sight, but Zem sat on top of one of the cars – a gun laid out across his lap threateningly, and his glare set on something in the back of the car, probably on the floor.

For the first time, Jak actually counted the exes. Two in the car by the look of it, one helping him to sit up, three cooperating in taking care of him and his wounds.

They were all there, still. Incomprehensibly close by.

And not one of them aiming a gun at him.

Lev watched him in silence, they all did – except for Zem, who apparently worked on glaring a hole into Jelas' skull.

Finally, Jak shook his head and looked away. He couldn't understand. He'd been a hair's breadth from killing them. They'd been a few feet away from something most of them and their friends probably had nightmares about.

"_He killed them! Killed them!"_

The water slums… it made sense then. Memories, chaotic even minutes after he had gotten back on land, off the rickety bridges and piers – not sure how many men in red armor he had shot and tackled into the water, only that there had been too many of them and a desperate need to get away.

All fear of him, and the bounty on his head, tripled that day.

Now he hardly had the energy to remember at all, but at least then he knew why Jelas had shot him.

But it didn't change anything.

"Hey now," Lev said.

Jak looked up at the finger poking his arm. The shadow of a wry smile touched Lev's lips as he went on with the bandage.

"Lesse, 'Damas is gonna kill me because I went pale reaper with fangs on the tattooed freaks'?" the blond ex said.

Mirache snorted out a brief laugh, and the ex just sitting by gave Lev a disbelieving, half-amused look. Jak, however, hardly even blinked despite the odd pick of words.

"No?" Lev said, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged lightly, careful not to rock the arm in his care too much. "Well, doesn't really matter how you want to formulate it. I'm kinda feeling peachy, though. Don't see any of my buddies lying around bleeding, either. From where I'm standing, you seem to be the only one being down."

The smile widened slightly, though there was a tired edge in it.

"Cheer up, emo kid," Lev said.

Jak couldn't help blinking at that one.

After fastening the clip to hold the bandage in place, Lev produced a fairly clean, large piece of cloth from his backpack. With a few quick, trained movements he had two corners of it tied together by Jak's shoulder, catching the wounded arm in a simple sling.

"I know you warriors just tend to forget it hurts to move," Lev said as he started to stand and brushed sand off his pants legs. "Oh, and you're not driving with that arm or I'll have to frown."

Jak just let out a defeated sigh at that. Right then, being in the passenger seat of one of his own cars seemed a very farfetched problem. Still, the answer seemed to be enough to satisfy Lev, and he waved his hands at the men getting to their feet. Mirache grabbed Jak's goggles from the ground and silently handed them over.

Putting them on seemed like more trouble than it was worth, and Jak simply hung them by his belt with a few clumsy motions.

"Right. Move out, people," Lev said, waving at all of them.

He wasn't smiling anymore, though.

It was a silent group that drove back into Spargus and parked their cars. The silence spread around them, other people in the parking area stopping and watching as the men assembled on the ground. Eyes watching, taking in the sight of Jak with his bandaged arm in a sling, of Jelas with his arms tied behind his back and pushed along by two of the other exes.

As he began to cross towards the city entrance, Jak caught sight of Kleiver watching from the other side of the open area. Their eyes met, and the much younger man dully expected a jibe to be flung their way. But Kleiver's fat lips scrounged up, as silent as anyone else. He kept watching, unmoving until the city gate opened. Then he raised a hand and slowly rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes hard.

Jak got a sinking feeling that he did not yet understand how severe this situation really was.

The silence continued to follow them, but most of the men and women in the streets at least had the decency to keep moving, though few of them bothered to be covert with their glances. And there was quite a bit of worry to be seen in several faces along the way.

Seeing the door to Damas' residence had never felt so relieving, and yet so dreadful.

Jak tried not to, but he could not keep himself from glancing aside, at his empty shoulder.

If Daxter had been there, maybe he would have noticed Jelas taking aim. Maybe then, all of them wouldn't have to be walking towards Damas' fury. No matter what the king made out of what had taken place in the ruins, he would certainly not be pleased.

The guards by the door let the group in after a quick exchange of words with Lev. Though the elevator swung slightly from the weight of seven men, but there was at least more than enough space for them. Jak glared at the floor all the way up, not wanting to see what everyone else may be thinking. He had enough to wrestle in his own mind.

As they arrived at the top Damas sat on the throne, listening to a monk leaving a report. Both king and monk looked up and around at the sound of the elevator arriving, however.

The men silently stepped into the large room, most of them looking at anything but towards the throne.

Taking in the entire situation with a glance, Damas' expression turned harder than steel. At the same time, as he stood up, he suddenly looked about ten times older than usual.

Silently, the monk pressed his hands against each other and turned to leave, slipping past the group of warriors without giving them a second glance. As the elevator went down, the exes, and Jak, stopped just before the steps leading to the throne. More or less consciously, Jak stopped a little ways aside from the group.

"What happened?" Damas asked.

Jak stifled a wince at the tone, and he definitely did not envy Lev as the blond ex took another step forwards. From the corner of his eye he noticed how most of the other men shuffled into a tense half-formation, standing at attention. Taking some comfort in their military training.

He had no such thing, and even so it would not have helped one bit against the sour feeling in his stomach. He really wished there could have been a small, fuzzy hand pressed to his temple, to give him balance.

Lev cleared his throat, arms held tightly behind his back and feet slightly apart.

"The mission went well until we were halfway done, your lordship," he said. "I regret to inform you that I made a poor choice in the handling of the task you gave us."

All of the other exes looked sharply at Lev, and even Jak narrowed his eyes at the man's neck. He couldn't possibly be-

"I made Jak and Jelas work together for a longer period of time," Lev said.

He was.

"When doing so I was unaware that Jelas had a history of seeing Jak fight and kill several of his companions in the Guard. The stress finally drove Jelas to do something stupid." Lev motioned at Jak without looking around. He bent his neck. "Even so, I forced such a situation, because I did not know. As the leader of the operation, I take full responsibility."

"Lev, for f-"

Whoever it was who spoke cut himself off in time and remained silent. Regardless, Lev was not the one Damas glared at.

Jelas twisted his head to the side after a second.

With that, unfortunately, the king turned a sharp look towards Jak – not as cold as the one he had given Jelas, but still unpleasant.

"Anything else?" Damas said, the words drumming against Jak's ears.

Crap.

Once again, Lev cleared his throat. He straightened up, meeting Damas' eye.

"Upon being shot, Jak, uh, transformed, your lordship, but…"

Lev looked around, raising his eyebrows in a silent question. One by one, the other exes nodded – except for Jelas, who watched in silent rage with his teeth bared. Zem nodded quickly and forcefully before Lev's gaze had even stopped on him.

"… he didn't attack. He controlled himself once he understood that nobody else was going to attack him."

The blond ex glanced at Jak, a weak smile gracing his lips for half a second.

Jak met his eyes, but didn't say a word. He looked away when Lev turned back to Damas, trying to just breathe. Pain throbbed along his wounded arm, digging its way deep into his shoulder. He wanted to heal it, but he felt dizzy just trying to focus on the white eco in his body.

He should sit down, but he wouldn't show weakness, not in front of Damas, not in front of that bastard who had shot him and those, those, those men who had seen him as their old master's demon.

They knew he had been so close to killing all of them, and they still, still…

"He wasn't doing any motion to attack, your lordship," Lev said. "After he transformed he just curled up and moved backwards until he collapsed and turned back. I don't blame him for his initial reaction. The attack was sudden, and I would expect a seasoned warrior to meet a surprise attack with a countermeasure."

He looked around again, and once more there were only nods in reply to the silent question. A few scowls even softened.

Damas' shoulders sunk just a breath.

But that was the end of the calm.

"Oh yes! Let's all coddle the fucking mass-murderer!" The men who held Jelas swore at him to shut up, but he didn't. It only seemed to goad him on even more, eyes wide open in rage as he stared at Jak. "Give him special treatment 'cause he's so bloody awesome. He killed more people than the metal heads!"

Jak grit his teeth so hard they screeched against each other. Don't move, don't move. Don't say anything. Don't. Don't.

"You fucking monster, you don't deserve to be here!"

If he clenched his hands any harder, the bones would break. Pain shot through his arm, a warning for what could happen.

Knowing that if he made the slightest movement, he would explode, and that would be worse. It had to be worse.

"_I_ decide whether-"

Damas' snarl was suddenly cut off by three hard steps and a growl. A familiar thump of a fist slamming into a face and the harsh cry of pain following the impact.

Jak looked up.

Jelas hung in the grip of his guards; the only reason he wasn't sprawled out on the floor. A groan rose between his lips and his head rolled, exposing the angry red on his chin where he had been struck. The other exes stood silent, staring at the dark, shaking fist still held dangerously close to Jelas' face.

"Fucker."

It was barely above a whisper, harsh and wetly forced past the speaker's bared teeth. His entire frame shook, the trembles growing from the fist as if he was strung up by it, hanging in the single word alone.

Jak too stood silent, watching. Dully confused, the emotion too detached to make him move a muscle.

It couldn't have been more than a second of that frozen state, before Damas recovered.

"You! Control yourself!" he barked, eyes dangerously narrowed.

But there was no reaction.

Lev hurried forwards, reaching out for the trembling man while throwing nervous glances at the king.

"Shit, man, back down! Hey! Zem!"

At the sound of his name Zem started, but he flinched away from his friend's touch. Breath hissed through his mouth, he violently waved his hand at Jelas but made no attempt to step close enough to hit him again.

"Bullshit!" he snarled, "fucking bullshit! What the hell d'ya think you know you little-"

Lev grabbed Zem's upper arms, dragging him backwards while cursing at him to calm down. Damas took a warning step forwards, glowering at the mechanic.

"I won't tolerate this!" the king growled.

At that, Zem finally reacted. His face snapped in Damas' direction, eyes wide open in rage.

"He thinks he can just- he didn't- nobody did- fucking doesn't know-"

He sputtered, then suddenly tore one arm free from the desperate grip trying to hold him still. The hand whipped outwards, pointing finger stretched.

"He's got no bloody clue what they did to him-!"

Zem stopped dead.

The hand and the outstretched finger hung like the fist had done, steadier this time. But as horror began to rise in Zem's face, the hand too started to tremble.

Nobody moved, only the eyes and heads turning to look at the point at which the finger was aimed.

At the end of the line, Jak stood unmoving.

The hand fell and Zem recoiled, out of Lev's numb grip.

"Oh shit, oh no… no…"

All the anger broken in one blow, he swayed, mouth opening and closing as if he was a fish thrown onto the unforgiving dry land. Shaking his head he staggered further backwards.

Jak watched him, motionless. But the blond could hear his own pulse throbbing to the tip of his ears.

"_It's not… we're not it, Jak. We're not KGs. Praxis is dead.__ It's not what you think."_

A hand reached out and fisted the sagging scarf around Zem's neck, tearing him forwards with a strangled sound.

"Don't," Damas snarled, "try my patience!"

Zem visibly gulped.

"N-no, Sir!"

_Don't ask don't ask don't wanna know don't listen don't hear don't don't don't…_

Jak's fingers twitched, the motion sending a nail through his wounded arm. He hardly noticed it, watching the two men. Damas bore down on Zem like a hawk extending its claws to catch a mongoose. In the background, several of the exes were exchanging glances. Lev was now staring at the dark skinned ex, a mix of confusion and disbelief in his eyes.

"What do you mean?" the king demanded.

Jak pinched his eyes shut. He didn't see how Zem just crumbled, tearing his gaze from Damas' stern face to dare a glance at the young, wounded wastelander. He could not have been looking for support, but whatever he did search for he did not seem to find it.

And then the voice. The words that broke the air.

"Wh-when I was a KG, I…"

"_**It's not what you think."**_ _He knew he knew all along he knew no no…_

"… I w-was picked to be a prison guard."

A sharp murmur tore through the group of tattooed men.

"Elite? _You_?"

The disbelief in the voice of the ex speaking, mirrored in the others' eyes, was easy to understand. Even Jelas looked disturbed, glaring at the man who turned away. There was nothing in Zem's weak posture that validated his claim, nothing in what he seemed to be. For just a moment, Jak could almost believe that there wouldn't be any more pain.

But Lev did not look surprised, the final shreds of his positive character gone from his face as he looked at Zem. And when their eyes met Zem sighed and reached up, digging his fingers beneath his scarf. The hands emerged again, pulling his greenish, sleeveless tunic downwards. Sweat glued the dirty cloth to his skin and he had to peel it away, scratching at the widening slope of the collar.

Three horizontal, grey lines went across Zem's chest, like bars over his lungs and heart. But they were slashed through by the middle, by a slanted line in a slightly darker shade than the rest. A series of scars also crisscrossed the tattoo, too thin to be from a metal head's claws. But also too regular and centered to have been collected in a battle.

The grey markings made no sense to Jak, but the others' reactions was enough. The other exes studied the tattoo, several of them letting out snorts and half whistles. Lev's expression did not change.

"The commander must'a been drunk…" somebody muttered.

Zem flinched, eyes cutting to Jak. The drawn back lips were enough to make the ex quickly look away again.

"Well?" Damas said.

Lev nodded, his jaw set tight.

"He's the real thing, your lordship," he said, glaring at Zem.

For a moment it looked like he would say something more, but stopped himself. Zem looked away, starting to pull his tunic back up. His eyes pinched shut when Damas spoke again.

"And?"

Short cut words, snapped out. As if the king could only contain himself in a single syllable as he glared at the cowering ex. Zem dug his nails into his arm when he could no longer occupy himself with getting fully dressed again. Finally he shook his head, starting to speak in a hoarse voice.

"Baron Praxis, your lordship, in the prison, he… he was experimenting on people."

_Nonono shut up shut up-_

Didn't notice the others' reactions, didn't see the frowns or the quick glances, Lev's blink. Didn't see Damas' lips stiffen. Only saw the one who talked, who raised his head and looked at Damas, a wild spark in his eye. Tried to remember that acting was worse, would be worse than listening.

"Pumping dark eco into them, trying to- people were dropping like flies, but there was- there was this kid who just wouldn't die, they kept- every fucking day! He'd been there for a whole goddamn year when I left-"

_Shut up shut up those hands on me-_

Didn't see how everyone stood frozen. Didn't see the look on Damas' face.

The one who talked clawed at his own mouth like he wanted to stop the words but he didn't, didn't…

"A kid, just a fucking kid and they said he was the worst little beast they'd ever seen in there! The fuck did'ey expect, all the- gods he bit Praxis' hand once an' I thought we'd- the commander, he-"

_Those hands on me__ crunching ripping don't touch me don't don't DON'T I'LL-!_

"Your lordship!"

Somebody's shout drowned in the roar as Jak shot forwards, humanity cracking under the hiss of dark eco. Claws exploded from the fingers of the raised fist, cutting through the palm's paling skin before they extended to slice.

A peace maker hit the ground.

Zem recoiled and lost his balance, an arm raised in useless defense. The monster did not miss a pace, spread claws sweeping down to cut through bone and jugular alike.

A hand caught the sickly white wrist, jerking it upwards again and sending drops of blood flying from the cut palm. In the same motion another arm hooked around Jak's stomach and he was pulled backwards, snarling and twisting. The wounded arm twitched in its sling but limply fell back, the pain too much even in the rage.

And behind, above the pale face wrung through with hatred was another face, worn by desert wind and framed by hair whitened too early by too many troubles. Lips drawn from the man's teeth in a silent growl that would not accept refusal. A crimson drop flared in the light of torches and dark eco.

The men stared as the king of Spargus held the demon back with his bare hands.

Arms wrenching back and forth as the smaller struggled to break free, spindly threads of dark eco crawling where the hand closed around a wrist. They sparkled around Jak's claws, tumbling down his hand into the fingers below. Muscles tensed further, tanned skin whitening against sickly pale as the taller man growled, his forehead glistening with sweat erupting from the crevasses of the frown.

The threads hissed as they bore into the restraining grip, leaving not a mark as they were absorbed.

Damas twisted and suddenly tore, ramming the back of Jak's head into his chest.

"Stop it! Now!"

The jet-black eyes shot wide open and Jak froze. He blinked a couple of times, staring without really seeming to see the recoiling exes and the trembling Zem on the floor.

A second slipped past.

Then, with a shudder tearing through his entire body, Jak's horns and claws retracted and his skin faded back into its natural tan. The eyes changed last, still blinking in confusion as black was sucked inwards until only the pupil in the center of the blue iris remained.

He shook his head, turning to look at the hand holding his wrist. In his disorientation he did not understand, and in that state at least, he was safe for another moment. Until he looked up. Until he saw the blood on Damas' unforgiving face and his very being turned to ice.

A groan slipped out between his lips and Jak crumbled, finally knowing that Praxis had won after all.

Frowning, Damas let him fall to his knees. In the stunned silence, where there was nothing but the trickle of water and harsh breathing, the king finally noticed the wetness on his cheek. He reached up and brushed his fingers against his face, then pulled back and looked at the red smeared over the fingertips.

Looked at Jak, the young warrior all but curled in on himself in agony.

"It's your blood, Jak," Damas said, in a voice so soft and calm that it probably surprised even him.

The blond straightened up with a start, tearing his free hand up in front of his face. Three cuts from his own claws tore across his palm, blood trickling out of them.

In his paralyzed state of mind, he had not felt the pain.

"Precursors…" he croaked, pressing his hand to his forehead without caring about the flaring sting.

It let him breathe again, but the relief was still too weak.

As Damas spoke, he addressed the exes. There was nothing soft left in his voice now.

"You, take Jelas away. I'll deal with him later. And tell the guards below I won't see anyone until I've dealt with Jak."

"Your lordship, it was my fault, please-"

"Go!"

Zem's feverish, hoarse prayer was cut short in a sharp breath. A half second only, then his boots scraped the floor and his footsteps numbly followed the other exes'.

If Jak had bothered to look up, he would have seen how the others stepped away from Zem in the elevator as if they thought he was sick. Zem hardly seemed to notice it himself, furiously massaging his forehead with his eyes tightly shut.

Jak didn't move, because he was not told to and he wasn't sure if he would be able to unless given a direct order.

Damas did not even wait until he was certain that the elevator had reached the bottom before he sat down beside the blond.

"Pull yourself together, Jak."

There was a grunt, sounding somewhat like "trying to".

Damas shook his head, placing a hand on the good shoulder.

"Jak, listen to me."

He breathed in steadily, lips still stiff.

"What just happened was my fault."

At that Jak looked up, blinking and with blood from his palm smeared on his brow. The king shook his head again, meeting the confused, bloodshot gaze.

"I shouldn't have forced him to talk. I didn't realize the magnitude of Praxis' madness."

This time Jak shook his head, opening his mouth to shift the blame to somebody who lacked discipline. It had never bothered him much before, not after he learnt control – until he could have threatened this man. As long as he didn't hurt Daxter, or anyone, and he hadn't but now…

Damas held up a hand, scowling.

"Shut up!" he snapped, closing Jak's mouth immediately. "I never apologize to anyone. Don't ever question me if I do."

Jak watched the king for a moment, then lowered his head and turned away again. He couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Water trickled and splashed.

Finally Damas let out a deep breath through his mouth.

"I didn't recognize that Zem at first, but when he punched Jelas I remembered. He was almost killed by another wastelander a while back, who claimed Zem wasn't worthy of being one of us." Damas shook his head. "I thought that was why he lashed out at Jelas. I had no idea."

He paused.

"We seem to keep coming back to the problem of lacking knowledge…" he muttered, more to himself than to Jak.

For a moment Damas was silent, but then he turned to the young man beside him.

"I don't have to banish people often, and that's good. It's bad for morale."

A hand landed on Jak's shoulder and he looked up at the king. Damas watched him, intently like always – scrutinizing, in the search for something.

"I don't want to banish you."

The hand squeezed.

"You're not making this easy, Jak," he said somewhat dryly, but not unfriendly. "However, most of the witnesses seem to agree you didn't do anything wrong on the mission. I'm going to believe them, and you. As for what happened here…"

He shook his head.

"Considering how they looked when they left, I don't think that it will be your problem. For now, you and Jelas may fight in the arena over who gets to stay in Spargus."

At long last, Jak found his voice again.

"What I did here-"

"No."

Once again Damas cut him off, but not all sharply this time. Purple eyes closed beneath a frown, and the shake of the king's head made the braids on his face swing.

"I had no idea," he repeated. His eyes opened and he watched Jak with a pang of regret so alien that it almost gave the young warrior a start. "If I had, I would have done all of this more carefully."

The regret passed, but Damas seemed to be left drained in its wake. He gazed at the water of the pools before the both of them, rubbing his forehead.

It struck Jak with no little alarm that this was the third time he had ever, and in the course of just a few hours, seen the king of Spargus look tired.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes, you needn't worry about me." The shadow of a smile pulled at Damas' lips as he said it, however.

The tired look evaporated, and he turned serious again.

"Times are rough, and I must admit that learning what Praxis did has shaken me."

Jak clenched his teeth, looking down.

"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered.

"Very well."

The ease at which Damas let the painful subject drop did surprise Jak, but he felt nothing but gratitude at it.

Bending forwards, the king dipped his hand into the water by their feet and moved it to his face. With slow, thoughtful motions he cleaned the last remains of blood from his cheek. Seeing this, Jak mirrored the movement with his forehead. The wounds still bled a little and a small, red cloud spread into the water when he reached into it. Yet, Damas' lack of ordering him to stop let Jak know that it was alright.

Still brushing his forehead with the back of his hand Jak looked up again, finding the king watching him.

"Jak, are you…"

Damas seemed to hesitate for a moment. But Damas shouldn't hesitate.

"Did you kill Praxis?"

It didn't sound as if that was the original question, but Jak was in no state of mind to wonder too much about it. He just shook his head, letting his hand drop to his lap.

"No. Kor did. Threw him into a scaffold."

"_Twenty feet of open air and CRASH! And that's why we don't fight XXXL-sized monsters with swords, kiddos! Unless you like to be carried home in a bag, but trust me, there're easier ways to have that arranged."_

He could almost hear Daxter's voice butting in, telling the story in a more exaggerated – but also more detailed – manner than Jak ever could. He frowned, forcing it away. Don't go there. Don't go there.

It was bad enough that another voice was there again, the strained, coarse breathing as revenge slipped away. And even in his final breaths, Praxis made his claim on everything.

"_You are the supreme weapon, Jak. And I made you."_

Everything. Every step, every strain, every drop of blood sacrificed in the battle. Nothing could belong to the one who had struggled.

"Death by scaffold for Praxis. That's something for the history books."

Damas' voice was closer, real. Jak looked up, seeing the thin lips stretched in a rare smile. It eased the darkness a little, but still the blond let his gaze fall away, glaring at the empty throne room. His wounded arm dully throbbed, dark eco and his own exhausted fury slouching through his mind. Haggard, empty.

So many screw-ups. So much laid bare, things he hadn't wanted anyone to know. That he had not wanted to know.

_I made you. _I_ made you._

"Everyone thinks I killed him," Jak said, having to snort at the irony. "And I wanted to."

Damas hummed, not making a comment. It must have been apparent from Jak's tone that he wanted to say something else. He knew that the last bit sounded a bit too much like a whine, but he ignored it. A moment passed as he debated with himself, trying to ascertain that it wasn't what he knew it was… only a statement, a musing of a memory. But it was neither, not really.

He gave up in the end, too tired to fight the desperate need to be cleansed of the memory, to be picked up and have it denied. Gritting his teeth, he let it drop.

"And he still went down saying I was his weapon."

Spat the words, hating himself. Couldn't look at Damas because it would show, show that it was nothing but a plea for assertion of the opposite.

Tell me I'm not. Please tell me I'm not. Even when I almost hurt you, when I thought that he was right. I need somebody to tell me that he was wrong.

A hand grabbed his chin and he winced, forcing down the instinct to fight back, to recoil. His head was turned, purple eyes glaring down into his. Jak flinched, the weakness laid open before the king.

"Bullshit."

The syllables were formed harshly, sounding odd from somebody who seldom took to swears. Jak blinked.

"Praxis stole a lot of things, but he had no claim on anything. Not on Haven, not on- you."

He seemed to be finished for a moment, but as he let go of Jak's chin Damas continued. For the first few words he turned away, glaring at empty air.

"Not ever. But it doesn't matter now." Damas looked back at the young wastelander beside him, stern but without the glare. "We have a battle here now, and you are nothing short of one of Spargus' finest warriors. As I think you were always meant to be."

His lips stretched a little.

"Disregarding the headaches you cost me every second month."

At that, Jak's shoulders finally dropped completely and he managed to smile just the tiniest bit. When Damas started to stand, the younger warrior did the same.

They were halfway to the elevator when another memory struck. Jak looked up.

"Damas?"

"Hm?"

"Why did you set Sig against Daxter and me in the arena?"

Damas did not smile, but he didn't grow stern either.

"The third battle should be a real challenge, and you never had any trouble with the first two. I didn't expect either of you to actually kill each other."

He pushed the rather crude button on the elevator structure, but he still watched Jak closely enough to see the brief tension crumble. A small nod, but Damas did not comment.

The elevator came rattling upwards.

"Before you leave, I have one last mission for today," Damas said.

"Hm?" Jak said, immediately trying to straighten up.

Damas snorted and shook his head. Then he looked the former renegade straight in the eye, perfectly serious.

"Get some proper rest."

Jak slowly blinked.

"If you need food then go out and get that, but aside from that I don't want to find out you've been running about for the next couple of days," Damas clarified. "Don't even think about going to Haven if they call you. They can practice taking care of their own problems for a day or two. That's an order, Jak."

It took a moment before the young warrior realized that Damas actually was serious down to the last word. Then the corners of Jak's lips twitched.

"I suppose I could give it a try," he said.

Smirking slightly, Damas sent him into the elevator with a pat to the good shoulder.

As he was lowered out of the throne room, Jak let out a slow, deep breath of relief.

Later he would realize that he had just been told "you look like crap", Damas-style.

Left alone, Damas slowly breathed in and started back towards the throne. He got halfway there before he froze in mid-step, and his face twisted. He fell to his knees, gritting his teeth to hold back a groan of pain, clutching his right wrist and pressing the back of the hand to the floor.

His fingers bent and twitched like snakes, all out of his control as the veins inside them darkened.

The dark eco flaring from Jak's claws-

Grinding out a curse Damas got to his feet and staggered past the throne, kicking one of the pots by the wall. It fell over, white eco spilling over the floor and he dove for it, burying his entire arm in the pure substance. The light spun around, seeping into his skin and leaving only a sweet coolness behind as it overpowered the foul eco.

Damas breathed heavily as he sat back up, massaging his right arm. As he did, his gaze was drawn towards the elevator structure.

Even descendants of Mar could not handle dark eco in the long run.

Gods. How long? A year? More? How had he done it? How could Jak have survived?

Not even descendants of Mar.

But…

Damas looked at his arm, turning it over and frowning as he tried to make sense of all he had just learnt.

But… descendants of Mar were among the precious few who should be able to survive exposure to dark eco for a longer period of time.

"… simply absurd…" he muttered.

Though he wasn't really believing those words anymore. He wasn't sure what he believed at all, anymore.

* * *

Jak stepped out of the elevator and through the doors only to nearly walk straight into Sig.

One look between them was enough to let Jak know that the much taller man knew. He had never in his life seen anything like fear in Sig's eye, but the current worry got very close.

"Cherry?"

A big hand came up, then stopped when Sig realized that he was about to grasp the shoulder of the wounded arm. Stiffly, he let his hand fall again.

Jak could feel the guards behind him watching, and the street behind Sig was not exactly empty either. But he didn't care about the other people, only looked up at his friend and tried to smile a little, to calm him.

"I'm still here," Jak said.

A surprised but pleased murmur ran through the audience, and Sig didn't even try to mask his relief. With a loud sigh he rolled his entire head, then looked down at Jak again.

"Dammit, don't rattle me like that," he said.

That almost made it possible to properly smile, despite the exhaust.

"Sorry," Jak said.

The other wastelanders on the street began to move out, apparently satisfied with the news. Putting a hand lightly on Jak's good shoulder, Sig stepped to the side.

"Come on then," he said, "let's get you home. You look like something the lizard dragged in."

That did sound very close to the best thing in the world for the moment. Nodding, Jak began to walk, Sig beside him and slowing his long strides to the shorter man's pace.

They had not gotten far down the street, however, before the many trials of the day began to make themselves loudly apparent. After the fourth stumble Jak tiredly took a turn to the left and sunk down on the lowest step of a stair leading up to the second floor of a building. He glanced up as Sig took a seat beside him.

"Y'don't have to- urgh…"

Jak rubbed his forehead, grunting in annoyance at his own fatigue. Sig's big hand was back on his shoulder immediately.

"I'll carry you to your place if I have to, cherry."

The tone made it clear that he really would do it for real, should the need arise. Jak had to snort, but not with frustration.

"Not quite that bad yet," he muttered.

A gust of wind blew past, warm but a little bit refreshing. Sitting in the shadow with Sig beside him, and the fears of the day put to rest by Damas, Jak felt like he could just slump down and fall asleep right then and there.

When had he last slept properly, between the nightmares, the loneliness and the wonder at Daxter's transformation? Not for at least three nights, he realized now.

It was taking it's toll, even on a person like him.

The white eco fluttered deep within him, but even though he started to feel better now, he still did not feel mentally prepared to start playing with his healing powers. Chances were that in his current state, the focus he needed for it would make him fall over.

He could wait. He had been given, or ordered, time to recover.

"Jak?"

The sudden voice interrupted his sluggish thoughts and he looked up, feeling Sig straighten beside him. At the edge of the buildings' shadow stood Lev, looking very much like quickly draining willpower alone kept him from breaking apart. Sweat smeared a bundle of his fringe against his forehead, shoulders half to his ears.

His hands clenched and unclenched a couple of times before he held them up, remaining at a respectful distance.

"I know you probably don't wanna see any warpaint-faces right now but look… I'm sorry. We're sorry."

Lev rubbed his forehead and sighed.

"Jelas put us all in a right soup. We've got him holed up and trying to tell everyone what happened, 'cause us exes will be the first to rip him apart if people get it in their heads he tried to off you because of Highspeed Ginger's bounty, 'cause we'll all be next to the gallows if so."

Because Lev spoke very fast in his agitated state, and Jak was so tired he could hardly remember his own name, it did not click at once.

"But right now, we all just wanna be sure that you're not getting ba-"

"Wait, what?" Jak cut him off.

Mouth open in a half-formed word, Lev just stared at him. Jak tried to glare back, but still could not really focus against the bright sky.

"What bounty?" he demanded.

Now even Sig stared at him.

"You didn't know?" The huge man flinched at the realization when Jak gave him a confused look.

Sig pressed a hand against his forehead, cursing under his breath. When he finally removed the hand he looked away, glaring at the ground.

"I didn't tell you 'cause I was sure you knew," he grimly muttered.

"Crap, crapcrapcraaap…"

Muttering under his breath, Lev grabbed his communicator and stepped forwards. He hunched down to get to Jak's level, hitting the buttons beneath the display quickly.

"This is a recording," he said, not looking up to meet Jak's eyes. "Many of us got it a couple of weeks ago…"

He fell silent, sucking on his lower lip.

At a final push of a button, a low rasp rose up from the communicator. Then, an all too familiar voice slithered through the speakers.

"This is commander Erol."

Jak bared his teeth.

"I assume you expected me to be dead. As you can hear, the situation is quite different however, but it doesn't matter. I am calling now to let it be known that whoever can bring me renegade Jak, _alive_, will be handsomely rewarded. The metal heads know where to find me should anybody be successful in the hunt."

With a low bleep, the recording ended. Still not looking up Lev folded the communicator and hung it back on his belt.

Jak watched the man before him in silence. Hearing Erol's voice raised his hackles, but now that it was no longer there, the rage fell back into the mist of exhaust.

It hit him, however, why Kleiver had acted so strangely in the parking area, and why people had seemed so worried. The failure of this mission actually threatened a good portion of the city's inhabitants.

"We're sorry," Lev muttered, still as a statue.

One could think, from looking at him, that he would never smile again.

He would truly have taken the responsibility for Jelas in front of Damas, if he had been allowed to. And now he was doing it again.

This guy must have been the shoddiest KG in history.

"I'm not banished," Jak finally said, because he couldn't think of anything else that could help.

Lev looked up sharply then, relief practically blazing in his eyes.

"No? Oh precursors-"

He let out a sigh, shaking his head.

"Thank the gods. The protest march is off, then."

It was a weak smile and a half-hearted joke, but it was there. It eased up the tension in the air immediately, if not completely.

Jak pursed his mouth. No reason trying to hide it.

"Damas said Jelas and I will fight in the arena over who gets to stay," he said.

The weak smile became a wince.

"Ah. Poor sod…" Lev shook his head.

He got to his feet.

"It's an ugly business," he said. "I can't judge, but I'm still pretty pissed at him right now."

There was a pause.

_And… about Zem…_

It hung in the air between Jak and Lev, but the ex proved wise enough not to bring it up. He simply nodded.

"I'd go on a mission with you again any day, if you'd have me," Lev said, managing a wry smile as he started to turn. "See ya."

"Hey," Jak said.

Lev stopped, and looked at him.

It was a little awkward, but the man deserved it.

"Thanks," Jak said, motioning at his bandaged arm.

With that acknowledgement, the remains of Lev's miserable mood cracked up and he smiled again, wide and honestly.

"You're welcome, man."

Giving a final, theatrical wave with his hand, the ex walked down the street.

For a little while, silence ruled.

"He okay?" Sig finally asked, curiously.

"I think so. Odd, but okay."

Jak got to his feet. He didn't feel quite alright, but well enough to walk.

It didn't take long to make it to Jak's simple home, and well inside the owner of the apartment gratefully crashed on one of the chair by the table. Closing his eyes for a moment he tried to make the gritty feeling in his body go away, but he fully well knew that only sleep would do that.

Gods, sleep.

As tired as he felt, not even worry for nightmares could touch him. Not even when the day had already offered several things for the bad dreams to feed on.

He opened his eyes when Sig said his name. The other wastelander held out the dipper from the water pot. The ceramic dripped with clear liquid and Jak gratefully accepted it, draining it in a few deep gulps. Without a word Sig took it back and went to refill it.

Jak drank the second round slower, and placed the dipper on the table when he finished.

"Thn'ks."

Sighing deeply, Jak leant against the backrest of the chair with all his weight. Sig grabbed the other chair and pulled it up in front of Jak's, sitting down.

"I'll just rest up a bit and I'll be fine…" the blond murmured, eyes closing.

Not that he really believed that himself. Sleep would definitely be a start at least. Sweet oblivion.

"I think we both know what you need right now, bush boy," Sig's deep, warm voice murmured.

Jak looked up just in time to see Sig grab the communicator from his belt and raise his thumb towards the number pad. A sparkle of eager joy rose up, only to clash with a slimy dread when the blond remembered why he hadn't considered that himself.

"No- wait," he quickly said, reaching out to grasp the communicator.

Sig just quirked what would have been an eyebrow if there had been any hair. Shaking his head, Jak looked away.

"Don't bother," he grunted through his teeth. "Dax is mad at me."

The communicator was gently moved out of reach.

"So mad he won't care you got shot?" Sig asked.

Jak looked back at the calm question. The other man simply watched him, the raised eyebrow the only sign of surprise. There was no value judgment, no deeper disbelief. Sig wasn't asking why, just offering his view, and he would probably not press the matter – or communicator buttons – if Jak persisted.

And this being one of the precious few people Jak did not at all regret meeting in this sad future. For a crazy moment, he played with the thought to ask if a kiss would be bad enough to make Daxter stop caring. Just to see the reaction.

But then, knowing Sig, there probably wouldn't be much of a comment at even that. Him having been around Jinx for years, and all.

From the look on his face right now though, Sig truly, honestly didn't believe that there was one single thing his cherries could do to each other that would tear them apart.

And maybe, when it came down to it… that was the only truth there was.

Jak let his hand fall, lips stretching just the slightest bit.

"Guess not," he said.

Nodding, Sig lowered the communicator and dialed. The speakers gave a buzz, followed by a slow beeping.

Four beeps passed before a click was heard.

"Come in, Sig," came a hoarse, familiar voice over the line.

"Hey, Torn," Sig said. "We've got ourselves a situation here. Jak is okay, but he got shot in the arm on a mission. Some goddamn ex-KG went psycho."

Several "What?" were heard in the background. Realizing that none of them were Daxter's, Jak clenched his teeth. Where was he? He hadn't run off somewhere outside, had he?

"Is everything alright over there?" Ashelin's voice held a hard edge, but she managed to sound mostly calm.

Sig nodded, glancing at Jak.

"Golden boy's fine, just drooping a bit," he said, then smiled just a little bit. "I think we better let Daxter slap him up for us."

There was a brief pause, then a low murmur of Torn, Ashelin and Samos' voices, that latter far more soothing than the other two. Finally, Ashelin's voice returned.

"We're sending Pecker for him," she said. "It will take longer than using the PA system, but we need to treat this with some delicacy."

Jak pursed his mouth, but he couldn't be bothered to feel annoyed. Maybe if he thought about it when he was up to actually thinking again, he'd agree with her. The last thing needed right now was Haven thinking that its invincible anti-hero was as down as he felt right then. Torn, Ashelin and the others had enough troubles keeping everything together.

He straightened up when Ashelin continued to speak, a little softer.

"In the meantime, is Jak well enough to make a report on what happened?"

Sig looked at the blond, who grunted but held out his good hand. He got the communicator and turned it over, starting to briefly recount the events of the morning to the rather fuzzy people on the small display.

He was pretty much done when he was interrupted by a distant sound, so low the speakers hardly managed to play it. But it got louder, underlined by a grumble from Torn. Jak perked up before he noticed it himself, ears prickling for whatever words may come.

A voice buzzed in the background, too far away for any words to make it through – but the voice, the tone was too familiar not to be recognized.

Seconds stretched, there was some grumbling of other voices saying to calm down and that there was nothing to worry about, but that voice obviously didn't care. It sped closer, louder, intercepted only by a muffled sound as if a body had skidded and crashed into a control panel. A speck of red stumbled onto the communicator's small screen.

Then finally, out of breath and too loud, crackling through the speaker.

"Where's that ex? I'll rip his eyes out!"

And by those words Jak knew that, at least for now, he was forgiven. He slumped back, only then realizing how far he had been leaning forwards, tense as if ready to leap with the communicator in his hand. Sig gave him an amused look, but didn't comment.

"Hey Dax," Jak murmured.

He couldn't even be bothered to feel awkward, too tired and relieved.

"Don't 'hey Dax' me, I need a name, address, and a set of pointy objects!" The fuzz waved its arms about. "I'll teach him about psychos in red! You did leave something to maim, right?"

Jak's lips stretched wider than he'd thought possible considering how he felt.

"Yeah."

He didn't care to speak more. Daxter would find out all about it in time, but right then it didn't really matter. Just that he could listen to his best friend talking again, that was enough.

"Well good for him, then," Daxter snarled. "Make sure he's in relatively good health for a while, so I can come over there and ruin it properly! I'll just- what?"

The fuzz turned around, and a pale arm handed him something. He turned back, a grin in his voice this time.

"Seems the sourpusses over here don't want me invading their precious space," he said, waving the smudge in his hand. "Keira's being a cool babe and letting me borrow her communicator. I'll call you in a sec, okay?"

"Okay," Jak said, smile softening.

"Sheez, you're talking my ear off today, more than usual even. Keep it real for ten seconds, will ya?"

Daxter stepped out of view, and Jak handed the communicator back to Sig. The big man listened to something Samos said and replied, but Jak no longer listened. He unhooked his own communicator and put it in his lap, thumb posed to push the button for answering calls.

The first beep hadn't even gotten halfway done before he had pushed the button, and Daxter's face appeared, much more detailed, on the screen.

"Missed me that bad, eh?"

_You have no idea._

"Can't blame you though, let me tell you this place is boring me out of my skull. Though considering all the action you're getting over there, I dunno if I'm jealous. Just proves that you can't do a thing right without me keeping you in line, eh?"

In the background, Sig finished his chat with Samos and the others. He shut off his communicator, but didn't move to get off the chair. Watching, with a smile pulling at one side of his mouth, as Jak listened to Daxter's ramblings.

The exhaust did not drain away from the blond's face, but it softened into a peaceful drowsiness.

The picture on the display began to bob slightly as Daxter walked, the background showing the he left the command center and entered the corridor outside.

"What were you doing out trippin' with an ex, anyway? No wait, don't tell me, I don't care. I'm gonna make him wish his mama never dropped him on his head when he was a kid, whatever the business was."

He looked over his shoulder, as if to make sure he was alone.

Uh-oh.

"Oh hey, while we're at it…"

Daxter's tone became, in a second, all too smooth. And still, he talked just a little faster than usual.

"Any, say, special reasons you gave me a goodbye smooch, buddy?" he asked, eyebrows lowering.

Jak cringed and glanced up at the man before him. It now turned out that the only reaction Sig offered for this piece of news, was a naked brow raised just a little bit higher.

Seeing Jak's movement on the small screen, Daxter too remembered that there were three people involved in this conversation. He caught himself with Daxteresque speed, however.

"Oh right, you're there too, aren't ya Siggy?" he said, albeit a little too loud. "Well! If you can deal with Jinx, you can deal with Jak!"

Jak let the communicator drop to his lap and reached up to rub his forehead, trying to think. Finally, avoiding to look at Sig, he sighed. Daxter's tense look had grown to full-blown unease by the time Jak turned back to him, and judging from the unsteady picture he was walking quicker than before.

"Dax, I-"

It was a weak comfort for Jak to figure that even a guy with better social skills than himself, would have had some trouble with this situation. Probably. He trailed off, gritting his teeth.

A very awkward moment passed.

"Put it on ice 'til you're feeling better?" Daxter finally offered, trying to smile. "'Cause let me tell you, you look like a metal-pede used you as a chew toy and tap-danced on your back when it got bored."

Jak's shoulders dropped.

"Rather, yeah."

"I'm peachy with that."

Sig decided that this was a good moment to leave the boys alone. He got up, tapping Jak's good shoulder lightly.

"I'll get you some grub," Sig said. "You can pay me later."

He was gone before Jak could bring up the willpower to protest. The door clicked close and the big feet walked off.

"Give 'im props, he doesn't get rattled by nothing," Daxter commented.

"No…"

Jak stood up and headed towards the sleeping room.

"I'm gonna lay down for a bit," he said.

"Sleeping on the job, are we? Then again, whoever sent you to a job looking like that oughta have their priorities checked. Of course, I know you'd dash off without a second thought if somebody as much as mentioned 'metal head invasion', even if you're about to drop. Gads, I oughta get a restraining order to keep you in line while I'm not there to do it myself!"

During this rant Jak had pulled off his boots and laid down on the sleeping mat. He placed the communicator on its side, so that he could still see Daxter's face on the display.

Daxter kept ranting, even as he got back to their room in Haven, even as Jak's heavy eyelids began to drift closed.

As Sig came back, he found Jak asleep. By then, Daxter had stopped talking, turning off Keira's communicator with a fond grin on his face. Snorting softly at the sight of Jak sprawled on his back, snoozing peacefully in the middle of the day, Sig left the bread and smoked fish wrapped in palm leaves on the table.

He left again, carefully closing the door behind him.

His cherries would be alright.

* * *

Begin Introspection. Serial code: Zem.

I'm alive. Gods, why am I alive? Who did I steal time from? Why didn't he kill me? Oh no- no, not in front of Damas… then I'd hurt him again, even if I'd finally be dead.

I did it again though, didn't I? I didn't mean to, I was just… following orders. Just like in the prison. Orders, orders. No, it's no excuse. No excuse. No mercy. I don't deserve it.

Shit. Shit. Bloody, f… what's the use? What?

Why didn't he kill me?

End Introspection.


End file.
